C.3 


WALT  WHITMAN  AND  PETER  DOYLE 
DRAWN  BY  H.  D.  YOUNG  FROM  A  PHO 
TOGRAPH  TAKEN  BY  RICE  AT  WASH 
INGTON  D.  C.  IN  1  869. 


CALAMUS  *  A  SERIES  OF  LETTERS  WRITTEN 
DURING  THE  YEARS  1868-1880  BY  WALT 
WHITMAN  TO  A  YOUNG  FRIEND  (PETER  DOYLE) 
#  EDITED  WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION  BY  RICHARD 
MAURICE  BUCKE  M.D.  ONE  OF  WHITMAN'S 
LITERARY  EXECUTORS  ##*#**#<* 


"Publish  my  name  and  hang  up  my  picture  as  that  of 

the  tenderest  lover, 
The  friend,  the  lover's  portrait  of  whom  his  friend  his 

lover  was  fondest, 

Who  was  not  proud  of  his  songs  but  of  the  measureless 

ocean  of  love  within  him  and  freely  poured  it  forth." 

Leaves  of  Grass   (Ed'n   1892),   p.    102. 


PUBLISHED  BY  LAURENS  MAYNARD  AT  287  CONGRESS 

STREET    IN    BOSTON    MDCCCXCVII      Jt     &     Jt     Jt     Jt 


KNTERED  ACCORDING  TO  THE  ACT  OF 
CONGRESS  IN  THE  YEAR  1897  BY 
LAURENS  MAYNARD,  IN  THE  OFFICE 
OF  THE  LIBRARIAN  OF  CONGRESS 
AT  WASHINGTON. 


Written  on  the  fly  leaf  of  a  copy  of  "  Specimen  Z)ays"  sent 
to  Peter  Doyle  at  Washington,  June,  1883. 

Pete  do  you  remember  —  (of  course  you  do  —  I  do  well) 
—  those  great  long  jovial  walks  we  had  at  times  for  years, 
(i866-'72)  out  of  Washington  City  —  often  moonlight 
nights,  'way  to  "Good  Hope  "  ;  or,  Sundays,  up  and  down 
the  Potomac  shores,  one  side  or  the  other,  sometimes  ten 
miles  at  a  stretch  ?  Or  when  you  work'd  on  the  horse- 
cars,  and  I  waited  for  you,  coming  home  late  together  — 
or  resting  and  chatting  at  the  Market,  corner  yth  street 
and  the  Avenue,  and  eating  those  nice  musk  or  water 
melons?  Or  during  my  tedious  sickness  and  first 
paralysis  ('73)  how  you  used  to  come  to  my  solitary  garret 
room  and  make  up  my  bed,  and  enliven  me  and  chat  for 
an  hour  or  so  —  or  perhaps  go  out  and  get  the  medicines 
Dr.  Drinkard  had  order'd  for  me — before  you  went  on 
duty?  ....  Give  my  love  to  dear  Mrs.  and  Mr.  Nash, 
and  tell  them  I  have  not  forgotten  them,  and  never  will. 

W.  W. 


Hi 


ivi978SO 


WHEN  I  heard  at  the  close  of  the  day  how  my  name  had  been 

receiv'd  with  plaudits  in  the  capitol,  still  it  was  not  a 

happy  night  for  me  that  follow'd, 
And  else  when  I  carous'd,  or  when  my  plans  were  accomplish'd, 

still  I  was  not  happy, 
But  the  day  when  I  rose  at  dawn  from  the  bed  of  perfect  health, 

refresh'd,  singing,  inhaling  the  ripe  breath  of  Autumn, 
When  I  saw  the  full  moon  in  the  west  grow  pale  and  disappear  in 

the  morning  light, 
When  I  wander'd  alone  over  the  beach,  and  undressing  bathed, 

laughing  with  the  cool  waters,  and  saw  the  sun  rise, 
And  when  I  thought  how  my  dear  friend  my  lover  was  on  his  way 

coming,  O  then  I  was  happy, 

0  then  each  breath  tasted  sweeter,  and  all  that  day  my  food 

nourish'd  me  more,  and  the  beautiful  day  pass'd  well, 
And  the  next  came  with  equal  joy,  and  with  the  next  at  evening 

came  my  friend, 
And  that  night  when  all  was  still  I  heard  the  waters  roll  slowly 

continually  up  the  shores, 

1  heard  the  hissing  rustle  of  the  liquid  and  sands  as  directed  to 

me  whispering  to  congratulate  me, 
For  the  one  I  love  most  lay  sleeping  by  me  under  the  same  cover 

in  the  cool  night, 
In  the  stillness  in  the  Autumn  moonbeams  his  face  was  inclined 

toward  me, 
And  his  arm  lay  lightly  around  my  breast  —  and  that  night  I  was 

happy. 

Leaves  of  Grass  (Ed'n  1892)  pp.  102-103. 


iv 


I  have  been  privileged  to  read  a  series  of  letters  ad 
dressed  by  Whitman  to  a  young  man,  whom  I  will  call 
P.,  and  who  was  tenderly  beloved  by  him.  They  throw 
a  flood  of  light  upon  "  Calamus,"  and  are  superior  to  any 
commentary.  It  is  greatly  to  be  hoped  that  they  may  be 
published.  Whitman,  it  seems,  met  P.  at  Washington 
not  long  before  the  year  1869  when  the  lad  was  about 
eighteen  years  of  age.  They  soon  became  attached, 
Whitman's  friendship  being  returned  with  at  least  equal 
warmth  by  P.  The  letters  breathe  a  purity  and  sim 
plicity  of  affection,  a  naivete  and  reasonableness,  which 
are  very  remarkable  considering  the  unmistakable  inten 
sity  of  the  emotion.  Throughout  them,  Whitman  shows 
the  tenderest  and  wisest  care  for  his  young  friend's  wel 
fare,  helps  him  in  material  ways,  and  bestows  upon  him 
the  best  advice,  the  heartiest  encouragement,  without 
betraying  any  sign  of  patronage  or  preaching.  Illness 
soon  attacked  Walt.  He  retired  to  Camden,  and  P.,  who 
was  employed  as  "  baggage-master  on  the  freight  trains" 
of  a  railway,  was  for  long  unable  to  visit  him.  There  is 
something  very  wistful  in  the  words  addressed  from  a  dis 
tance  by  the  aging  poet  to  this  "son  of  responding 
kisses."  I  regret  that  we  do  not  possess  P.'s  answers. 
Yet,  probably,  to  most  readers,  they  would  not  appear 
highly  interesting ;  for  it  is  clear  he  was  only  an  artless  and 
uncultured  workman. —  JOHN  ADDINGTON  SYMONDS  in 
Walt  Whitman  —  A  Study,  pp  78,  79. 


I  HEAR  it  was  charged  against  me  that  I  sought  to  destroy  institu 
tions, 

But  really  I  am  neither  for  nor  against  institutions, 

(What  indeed  have  I  in  common  with  them  ?  or  what  with 
the  destruction  of  them  ?) 

Only  I  will  establish  in  the  Mannahatta  and  in  every  city  of  these 
States  inland  and  seaboard, 

And  in  the  fields  and  woods,  and  above  every  keel  little  or  large 
that  dents  the  water, 

Without  edifices  or  rules  or  trustees  or  any  argument, 

The  institution  of  the  dear  love  of  comrades. 

Leaves  of  Grass  (Ed'n  1892)  p.  107 


CONTENTS 


CHRONOLOGICAL  NOTES  OF  WALT  WHITMAN'S  LIFE        .          i 

INTRODUCTION   BY  THE  EDITOR,  CONTAINING  AN  INTER 
VIEW  WITH  PETER  DOYLE       .  .  9 

LETTERS  OF  1868  ......        35 

LETTERS  OF  1869  .                                                         •        53 

LETTERS  OF  1870  ...                                   .61 

LETTERS  OF  1871  .        81 

LETTERS  OF  1872  ....                        .87 

LETTERS  OF  1873  ......        99 

LETTERS  OF  1874  .            .            .            .            .            •      137 

LETTERS  OF  1875  ......       159 

LETTERS  OF  1876-1880 165 


vn 


I  WILL  sing  the  song  of  companionship, 
I  will  show  what  alone  must  finally  compact  these, 
I  believe  these  are  to  found  their  own  ideal  of  manly  love,  indi 
cating  it  in  me, 
I  will  therefore  let  flame  from  me  the  burning  fires  that  were 

threatening  to  consume  me, 

I  will  lift  what  has  too  long  kept  down  those  smouldering  fires, 
I  will  give  them  complete  abandonment, 
I  will  write  the  evangel-poem  of  comrades  and  of  love, 
For  who  but  I  should  understand  love  with  all  its  sorrow  and  joy? 
And  who  but  I  should  be  the  poet  of  comrades? 

Leaves  of  Grass  (Ed'n  1892),  p.  21. 


viii 


CHRONOLOGICAL  NOTES 
OF   WALT    WHITMAN'S    LIFE 

1819.  Born  3ist  May,  in  West  Hills,  Long  Island. 

1820,  '21,  '22,  and  early  half  of  '23.     At  West  Hills. 
i823-J24.     In  Brooklyn,  in  Front  street. 

1825-^3 o.     In  Cranberry,  Johnson,  Tillary,  and  Henry 
streets.     Went  to  public  schools. 
2     Tended  in  a  lawyer's  office;  then,  a  doctor's. 
4.     In  printing  offices,  learning  the  trade. 
37.     Teaching  country  schools    in    Long   Island. 
"  Boarded  round." 

1 840-' 45.  In  New  York  city,  printing,  etc.  Summers  in 
the  country.  Some  farm-work.  Writes  a  number 
of  essays  and  tales  which  are  published  in  Demo 
cratic  Review  1841-5. 

i846-'47.     In  Brooklyn,  editing  daily  paper,  The  Eagle. 

1 848-' 49.  In  New  Orleans,  on  editorial  staff  of  daily 
paper,  The  Crescent.  —  "  About  this  time  went  off 
on  a  leisurely  journey  and  working  expedition 
(  my  brother  Jeff  with  me)  through  all  the  Middle 
States,  and  down  the  Ohio  and  Mississippi  Rivers. 
Lived  a  while  in  New  Orleans,  and  worked  there. 
After  a  time,  plodded  back  northward,  up  the 
Mississippi,  the  Missouri,  etc.,  and  around  to,  and 
by  way  of,  the  great  lakes,  Michigan,  Huron,  and 


V   *l'l  :j     CALAMUS 


*^  ftb  ^Niagara  Falls  and  Lower  Canada  — 
finally  returning  through  Central  New  York,  and 
down  the  Hudson."  —  Personal  Notes,  W-  W. 

1850.  Publishing  The  Freeman  newspaper  in  Brooklyn. 

1851,  '52,  '53,  '54.      Carpentering  —  building  houses   in 

Brooklyn  and  selling  them. 

1855.  First  issue  of  Leaves  of  Grass.     Small  quarto,  94 
pages,   12  poems.     Eight  or   nine    hundred  copies 
printed.     (No  sale.} 

1856.  Second  issue  of  Leaves  of  Grass.     Small   i6mo.y 
384  pages,    32  poems — published   by   Fowler   6* 

Wells,  308  Broadway,  New  York.  (Little  or  no 
sale.*) 

1860.  Third  issue  of  Leaves  of  Grass.  456  pages,  \2rno., 
published  by  Thayer  6*  Eldridge,  1 1 6  Washing 
ton  Street,  Boston. 

1862.  W.  W.  leaves  Brooklyn  and  New  York  perma 
nently.  Goes  down  to  the  field  of  war.  Winters 
partly  in  Army  of  the  Potomac,  camped  along 
the  Rappahannock,  Virginia.  Begins  his  minis 
trations  to  the  wounded. 

i863~'64.     In  the  field  and  among  the  Army  hospitals. 

1865.  At  Washington  City,  as  Government  clerk,  in 
Department  of  Interior.  Is  dismissed  by  Hon. 
James  Harlan  for  having  written  an  "  indecent 
book"  —  i.  e.  L.  of  G.  As  comment  on  this 
governmental  action  W.  D.  O'Connor  writes 
The  Good  Gray  Poet,  adjudged  by  Henry  J. 


CHRONOLOGICAL  NOTES 

Raymond  to  be  the  most  brilliant  monograph  in 
American  literature.  Whitman  at  once  given 
another  clerkship  in  office  of  Attorney  General. 

1866.  Prints   Drum   Taps   and  Sequel  to  Drum    Taps, 
poems  written  during  the  war,  President  Lincoln's 
Funeral  Hymn,  and  other  pieces,  96  pages,   12  mo. 
Washington.     No  publisher's  name. 

1867.  Fourth    edition   of  Leaves   of    Grass.     338  pages, 
1 2  mo.      The  poems  now  begin  the  order  and  classifi 
cation   eventually   settled    upon.     New    York.     No 
publisher's  name. 

Notes  on  Walt  Whitman  as  Poet  and  Person,  by 
John  Burroughs,  published. 

1868.  '69,  '70.     Employed  in  Attorney-General's  Depart 

ment,  Washington. 

1871.  Delivers  After  all,  not  to  Create  only,  (Song  of  the 
Exposition],  at  the  opening  of  the  American  Insti 
tute.  New  York. 

1871.  Fifth  edition  of  Leaves  of  Grass,  384  pages,  and 
Passage  to  India  i2o//.,  both  in  one  volume,  12 mo. 
Washington,  D.C.     Includes  Drum  Taps,  Marches 
now  the    War  is  over,  etc.     (A  handsome  edition?) 
Second     edition    of    Burroughs    "  Notes "    pub 
lished. 

1872.  Delivers  As  a  Strong  Bird  on  Pinions  Free,  at  the 
commencement,    Dartmouth    College,    Hanover, 
N.  H.  (now,  in  1891  edition,  entitled  Thou  Mother 
with  thy  Equal  Brood?) 

3 


CALAMUS 

1872.  "Took  a  two  months'  trip  through  the  New  Eng 
land  States,  up  the  Connecticut  Valley,  Vermont, 
the  Adirondack  region  and  to  Burlington,  to  see 
my  dear  sister  Hannah  once  more,  returning  had 
a  pleasant  day-trip  down  Lake  Champlain  —  and, 
the    next    day   down    the    Hudson."  —  Personal 
Notes. 

1873.  Opening  of  this  year,  W.  W.  prostrated  by  paraly 
sis,  at  Washington.     Loses  his  mother  by  death. 
Leaves  Washington  for  good,  henceforth  lives  in 
Camden,  New  Jersey. 

i874-'75.     Living  in  Camden,  disabled  and  ill. 

1876.  Sixth  or  Centennial  issue  of  Leaves  of  Grass 
{printed from  the  plates  of  theffth,  1871,  edition}. 
Also  another  volume,  Two  Rivulets,  composed  of 
prose  and  poems  alternately.  (  Very  handsome  and 
valuable.  Becoming  rare. ) 

1877-78.  Health  and  strength  now  moderately  improv 
ing. 

1879.  Journeys  west  to  Missouri,  Kansas,  Colorado,  etc. 

1880.  Journeys  to  Canada,  and  summers  there  at  London 
with  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Bucke.     Made  a  trip  with  Dr. 
Bucke  to  Hamilton,  Toronto,  Kingston,  Montreal, 
Quebec,  down  lakes  and  St.  Lawrence  by  water 
and  up  the  Saguenay. 

1 88 1.  Seventh  issue  of  Leaves  of  Grass,  382  pages,  12  mo. 
James  R.    Osgood  6-   Co.,  Boston.        Six  months 
after  issue,  J.  R.  Osgood  d-  Co.  are  threatened  with 

4 


CHRONOLOGICAL  NOTES 

prosecution    by     Massachusetts    District    Attorney 
Stevens ,  and  abandon  the  publication. 

1882.  Eighth  edition  of  Leaves  of  Grass,  from  same  plates 
as  1 88 1    edition  with  last  touches  and  corrections  of 
the  author,  containing  all  th€  poems  from  first  to  last 
—  two  hundred  and  ninety-three — printed  under  W. 

W.'s  direct  supervision.  Published  by  Rees  Welch 
<Sr*  Co.,  {afterwards  David  McKay),  23  South  Ninth 
Street,  Philadelphia,  also  prose  writings,  autobio 
graphy,  etc.,  entitled  "  Specimen  Days  and  Collect" 
The  author* s  parentage,  early  days  on  Long  Island, 
and  young  manhood  in  New  York  City.  Three 
years'  experience  in  the  Secession  War,  especially  the 
army  hospitals.  Convalescent  notes  afterward. 
Also  some  literary  criticisms,  and  jaunts  west  and 
north.  The  latter  part,  Collect,  includes  Democratic 
Vistas,  the  successive  Prefaces  of  Leaves  of  Grass, 
with  many  notes,  and  prose  compositions  of  various 
years.  $7 4. pages,  i2mo.  Published  by  Rees  Welch 
6*  Co.  (afterwards  David  McKay?) 

1883.  Bucke's    Walt    Whitman  is  published  by  David 
McKay. 

1884.  Still  living  in  Camden,  New  Jersey,  to  which  city 
he  came  in  1873  and  where  he  remained  until  his 
death. 

i885-'87.     Health   steadily   though    slowly  declining  — 
lives  very  quietly,  though  many  friends  (one  or 


CALAMUS 

more  almost  every  uay)  come  to  see  him  and  in 
many  ways  show  an  interest  in  him. 

1888.  A  severe  illness  (increase  of  the  old  paralysis,  etc.) 
brings  him  to   death's  door.     He  never  regains 
strength  after  this.     Publishes  this  year  the  volume 
called,    November  Boughs  —  also    Complete    Poems 
and  Prose  in  one  large  volume. 

1889.  The   Walt   Whitman   birthday  celebrations  were 
inaugurated  this  year  by  a  dinner  at  Camden  (see 
the  volume  Camderfs  compliment  to  Walt  Whitman 
edited  by  Horace  L.  Traubel  and  published  by 
David    McKay).     This  year  is  published,  in  cele 
bration  of  the  seventieth  anniversary  of  the  poet]s 
birthday,  the  limited,  autographed,  pocket  book  edition 
of  L.  of  G.  in  which  is  included  Sands  at  Seventy  and 
A  Backward  Glance  O'er  Travel' d  Roads.     (Out  of 
print,  rare  and  valuable?) 

1891.  Goodbye  My  Fancy  published,  and  immediately  after 
wards  the  tenth  and  final  edition  of  L.  of  G.  includ 
ing  all  poems  to  date.     Of   this  edition  Whitman 
says  that  he:  "would  like  it  to  absolutely  super 
sede  all  previous  ones.    Faulty  as  it  is,  he  decides 
it   as   by  far   his   special   and  entire  self-chosen 
poetic  utterance." 

1892.  Complete    Prose     Works,    including    the   previous 
Specimen    Days   and   Collect  published  by  McKay 
uniform  with  above  final  edition  of  L.  of  G. 

Walt  Whitman  died  26th  of  March. 
6 


CHRONOLOGICAL  NOTES 

Wm.    Clarke   publishes    Walt    Whitman   (Swan, 
Sonnenschein  &  Co.,  London.) 

1893.  Walt   Whitman's  literary  executors  publish  In  Re 
Walt  Whitman.     John  Addington  Symonds  pub 
lishes    Walt   Whitman,  a  Study  (J.  C.     Nimmo, 
London) ;    also  Oscar  L.  Triggs  publishes  Brown 
ing  and  Whitman —  a  Study  in  Democracy  (Swan, 
Sonnenschein  &  Co.,  London). 

1894.  The    Walt     Whitman    Fellowship   (International) 
definitely  organized  on   3ist   May  at    Reissers', 
Philadelphia. 

1895.  Second  annual  meeting  of  Walt  Whitman  Fellow 
ship  (International)  May  31,  at  Mercantile  Library 
Hall  and  Reissers'  in  Philadelphia. 

1896.  Third  annual  meeting  of  Walt  Whitman  Fellowship 
(International)  at   Twentieth    Century  Club    and 
Hotel    Bellevue  in   Boston   (May   31).     William 
Sloane  Kennedy  publishes  Reminiscences  of   Walt 
Whitman     (Alexander    Gardner,    Paisley,    Scot 
land,) —  John   Burroughs   publishes    Whitman,  a 
S/to/F(Houghton,  Mifflin&  Co.,  Boston)— Thomas 
Donaldson    publishes    Walt    Whitman    the  Man 
(Francis  P.  Harper,  New  York). 

1897.  Fourth  Annual  Meeting  of  Walt  Whitman  Fellow 
ship    (International)    May   31,    in    Philadelphia. 
William  Norman  Guthrie  publishes  Walt  Whitman 
the  Camden  Sage  (The  Robert  Clarke  Co.,  Cin 
cinnati). 


I  WILL  sound  myself  and  comrades  only,  I  will  never  again  utter  a 

call  only  their  call, 

I  will  raise  with  it  immortal  reverberations  through  the  States, 
I  will  give  an  example  to  lovers  to  take  permanent  shape  and 

will  through  the  States. 

Leaves  of  Grass  (Ed'n  1892),  p.  97. 


INTRODUCTION 

THE  broken  series  of  letters  (perhaps  three  lost 
for  each  one  preserved,  but  all  known  to  exist 
included)  which  make  up  the  body  of  this  little 
volume,  are  here  given  with  all  their  freedom 
and  abandon  and  literary  imperfection  verbatim.  They 
are  possessed  of  none  of  the  usual  merits  belonging  to 
the  published  specimens  of  this  form  of  composition,  and 
to  those  who  know  nothing  of  the  author  of  Leaves  of 
Grass  it  is  very  likely  they  may  appear  quite  valueless. 
Readers,  however,  who  know  something  of  him  will  find 
in  them  a  homely,  honest  and  wholesome  flavor  very  far 
from  displeasing  —  will  detect  in  them  a  sweet  and 
nourishing  quality  comparable  to  that  of  the  plain  food 
fresh  gathered  from  the  pastures,  the  woods,  the  fields  or 
the  garden.  But  since  in  order  to  derive  enjoyment  and 
benefit  from  them,  it  is  essential  that  the  reader  know 
something  of  the  writer,  I  have  thought  well  in  offering 
them  to  the  general  public  to  prefix  some  notes  tending 
to  throw  light  upon  the  personality  of  the  man,  Walt 
Whitman.  And  first  (avoiding  as  far  as  possible  repe 
tition  of  what  has  elsewhere  been  written)  a  few  words  of 
my  own  personal  experience. 

9 


CALAMUS 

first  in  1877,  three  years  before  the  last  of 
these  letters  were  written.  It  was  one  hot  July  day,  the 
place  of  meeting,  Camden,  New  Jersey.  I  had,  unasked, 
a  stranger,  called  to  see  the  man  whose  own  writings  (for 
many  years  I  had  read  the  Leaves  with  delight  and  en 
thusiasm)  and  the  writings  of  others  about  him  had 
awakened  in  me  profound  interest. 

The  house  was  a  three  story  red  brick,  on  the  street, 
facing  the  south.  I  rang  the  bell.  The  door  was  opened 
by  a  pleasant-faced,  almost  pretty,  middle-aged  woman, 
whom  I  afterwards  knew  well  (  and  very  much  liked  )  as 
Mrs.  George  Whitman  —  the  wife  of  the  poet's  brother. 
When  I  had  told  her  who  I  had  come  to  see  she  called 
up  the  stairs —  "Walt  —  Walt  —  here  is  some  one  to  see 
you,"  and  showed  me  into  a  very  comfortable  sitting-room 
to  the  left  of  the  entrance  hall.  I  had  only  sat  a  few 
minutes  in  the  darkened  and  comparatively  cool  room 
when  Walt  Whitman  entered.  He  walked  slowly  leaning 
on  a  cane  —  his  left  leg,  manifestly  weaker  than  the  right, 
making  him  quite  lame.  He  was  suffering  from  the 
paralysis  mentioned  in  the  letters. 

He  was  a  man  of  about  six  feet  in  height  and  weighing 
about  two  hundred  pounds,  erect,  broad  chested,  dressed 
in  a  light  gray  suit  —  a  white  shirt  with  broad  turned- 
down  collar  open  at  the  throat  and  no  necktie.  His  face 
was  broad  and  red,  the  picture  of  robust  health,  his 
hair  and  beard  long  and  almost  white.  After  he  had 
welcomed  me,  which  he  did  with  cordiality,  and  we  had 

10 


INTRODUCTION 

sat  down  to  talk  I  saw  that  his  eyes,  which  were  a  good 
part  of  the  time  half  covered  by  heavy  lids,  were  pale 
blue,  that  his  nose  was  strong  and  straight,  his  lips  full 
and  more  expressive  of  tenderness  than  firmness,  his 
cheeks  rosy  and  smooth  almost  as  a  boy's  —  his  ears 
large,  fleshy  and  extraordinarily  handsome,  his  head  mas 
sive  and  well  rounded  both  from  front  to  back  and  from 
side  to  side,  his  brows  prominent  and  very  high-arched. 
His  open  shirt  showed  the  gray  hair  of  his  chest.  Head 
and  body  were  well  and  somewhat  proudly  carried.  His 
ruddy  face,  his  flowing,  almost  white,  hair  and  beard,  his 
spotless  linen,  his  plain,  fresh  looking  gray  garments,  ex 
haled  an  impalpable  odor  of  purity.  Almost  the  domi 
nant  initial  feeling  was  :  here  is  a  man  who  is  absolutely 
clean  and  sweet  —  and  with  this  came  upon  me  an  im 
pression  of  the  man's  simple  majesty,  such  as  might  be 
produced  by  an  immense  handsome  tree,  or  a  large,  mag 
nificent,  beautiful  animal. 

The  poet's  voice,  which  was  soft,  clear  and  sympathetic, 
added  much  to  the  charm  of  his  presence.  In  his  speech 
there  was  no  attempt  at  smartness  or  cleverness  —  the 
reverse,  indeed,  of  all  that.  His  language  was  simple, 
sincere  and  direct,  just  as  it  is  in  these  letters  and  in  all 
his  writings. 

After  sitting  for  a  time  in  the  room  we  took  the  street 
cars  to  the  Delaware,  crossed  by  the  ferry,  and  then,  by 
an  open  car,  rode  several  miles  up  Market  Street,  Phil 
adelphia.  As  we  passed  along  I  noticed  that  the  men 

ii 


CALAMUS 

and  boys,  drivers,  conductors,  ferry  hands,  laborers,  shoe 
blacks,  news-boys  and  the  rest  nearly  all  seemed  to  know 
my  companion,  and  the  unmistakable  glance  of  affection 
which  many  of  them  gave  in  return  for  his  quiet  word  or 
nod  of  recognition  was  something  new  in  my  experience 
of  humanity  and  so  far  it  has  not  been  paralleled  since. 

Upon  our  return  to  the  Delaware  we  parted,  he  taking 
the  ferry  back  to  Camden,  I  returning  to  my  hotel  in 
Philadelphia.  Any  attempt  to  convey  to  another  even 
the  faintest  notion  of  the  effect  upon  me  of  that  short  and 
seemingly  commonplace  interview  would  be  certainly 
hopeless,  probably  foolish.  Briefly,  it  would  be  nothing 
more  than  the  simple  truth  to  state  that  I  was,  by  it, 
lifted  to  and  set  upon  a  higher  plane  of  existence,  upon 
which  I  have  more  or  less  continuously  lived  ever  since 
—  that  is,  for  a  period  of  eighteen  years.  And  my  feeling 
toward  the  man,  Walt  Whitman,  from  that  day  to  the 
present  has  been  and  is  that  of  the  deepest  affection  and 
reverence.  All  this,  no  doubt,  was  supplemented  and 
reinforced  by  other  meetings,  by  correspondence  and  by 
readings,  but  equally  certainly  it  derived  its  initial  and  es 
sential  vitality  from  that  first,  almost  casual  contact. 

If  it  were  possible  to  me  I  should  like,  in  this  brief  in 
troduction,  to  present  the  man  Walt  Whitman  to  the 
reader  as  he  was  at  the  time  these  letters  were  being 
penned.  I  have  given,  in  few  words,  what  I  saw  of  him 
myself  at  that  time.  Another  and  a  better  observer,  John 
Burroughs,  by,  for  our  present  purpose,  a  wonderful 

12 


INTRODUCTION 

stroke  of  luck  has  the  following  about  him.*  While  act 
ually  riding  on  the  street  car  of  which  Peter  Doyle  was 
conductor,  he  says:  "I  give  here  a  glimpse  of  him  in 
Washington  on  a  Navy  Yard  horse  car,  toward  the 
close  of  the  war,f  one  summer  day  at  sundown.  The 
car  is  crowded  and  suffocatingly  hot,  with  many  passen 
gers  on  the  rear  platform,  and  among  them  a  bearded, 
florid-faced  man,  elderly,  but  agile,  resting  against  the 
dash,  by  the  side  of  the  young  conductor,  and  evidently 
his  intimate  friend.  The  man  wears  a  broad-brim 
white  hat.  Among  the  jam  inside  near  the  door,  a 
young  Englishwoman,  of  the  working  class,  with  two 
children,  has  had  trouble  all  the  way  with  the  youngest, 
a  strong,  fat,  fretful,  bright  babe  of  fourteen  or  fifteen 
months,  who  bids  fair  to  worry  the  mother  completely 
out,  besides  becoming  a  howling  nuisance  to  everybody. 
As  the  car  tugs  around  Capitol  Hill  the  young  one  is 
more  demoniac  than  ever,  and  the  flushed  and  perspir 
ing  mother  is  just  ready  to  burst  into  tears  with  weari 
ness  and  vexation.  The  cars  stops  at  the  top  of  the 
Hill  to  let  off  most  of  the  rear  platform  passengers,  and 
the  white-hatted  man  reaches  inside  and  gently  but 
firmly  disengaging  the  babe  from  its  stifling  place  in 
the  mother's  arms,  takes  it  in  his  own,  and  out  in  the 
air.  The  astonished  and  excited  child,  partly  in  fear, 

*  Birds  and  Poets  —  Kurd  and  Houghton  —  N.  Y.  1877  —  pp.  224 
et  seq. 

t  An  error  —  it  was  after  the  war,  probably  in  1867. 
13 


CALAMUS 

partly  in  satisfaction  at  the  change,  stops  its  screaming, 
and  as  the  man  adjusts  it  more  securely  to  his  breast, 
plants  its  chubby  hands  against  him,  and  pushing  off  as 
far  as  it  can,  gives  a  good  long  look  squarely  in  his  face 
— then  as  if  satisfied  snuggles  down  with  its  head  on 
his  neck,  and  in  less  than  a  minute  is  sound  and  peace 
fully  asleep  without  another  whimper,  utterly  fagged  out. 
A  square  or  so  more  and  the  conductor,  who  has  had  an 
unusually  hard  and  uninterrupted  day's  work,  gets  off 
for  his  first  meal  and  relief  since  morning.  And  now 
the  white-hatted  man,  holding  the  slumbering  babe 
also,  acts  as  conductor  the  rest  of  the  distance,  keeping 
his  eye  on  the  passengers  inside,  who  have  by  this  time 
thinned  out  greatly.  He  makes  a  very  good  conductor, 
too,  pulling  the  bell  to  stop  or  go  on  as  needed,  and 
seems  to  enjoy  the  occupation.  The  babe  meanwhile 
rests  its  fat  cheeks  close  on  his  neck  and  gray  beard, 
one  of  his  arms  vigilantly  surrounding  it,  while  the  other 
signals,  from  time  to  time,  with  the  strap;  and  the 
flushed  mother  inside  has  a  good  half  hour  to  breathe, 
and  cool,  and  recover  herself."  Elsewhere  the  same 
writer  —  then  living  in  Washington  and  seeing  Whitman 
almost  every  day,  drew  from  the  life  the  following  outline 
sketch :  *  "  Lethargic  during  an  interview,  passive  and 
receptive,  an  admirable  listener,  never  in  a  hurry,  with 
the  air  of  one  who  has  plenty  of  leisure,  always  in  per- 

*  Galaxy,  i  Dec.  '66 —  pp.  609  et  seq. 
14 


INTRODUCTION 

feet  repose,  simple  and  direct  in  manners,  a  lover  of 
plain,  common  people,  4  meeter  of  savage  and  gentleman 
on  equal  terms,'  temperate,  chaste,  sweet-breathed, 
tender  and  affectionate,  of  copious  friendship,  preferring 
always  to  meet  as  flesh  and  blood,  and  with  a  large, 
summery,  motherly  soul  that  shines  in  all  his  ways  and 
looks,  he  is  by  no  means  the  '  rough '  people  have 
been  so  willing  to  ^believe.  Fastidious  as  a  high  caste 
Brahmin  in  his  food  and  personal  neatness  and  cleanli 
ness,  well  dressed,  with  a  gray,  open  throat,  a  deep 
sympathetic  voice,  a  kind,  genial  look,  the  impression 
he  makes  upon  you  is  that  of  the  best  blood  and  breed 
ing.  He  reminds  one  of  the  first  men  —  the  beginners; 
has  a  primitive  out-door  look — not  so  much  from  being 
in  the  open  air  as  from  the  texture  and  quality  of  his 
make  —  a  look  as  of  the  earth,  the  sea,  or  the  mountains, 
and  *  is  usually  taken,'  says  a  late  champion  of  his 
cause,  *  for  some  great  mechanic,  or  stevedore,  or  sea 
man,  or  grand  laborer,  of  one  kind  or  another.'  His 
physiognomy  presents  very  marked  features  —  features 
of  the  true  antique  pattern,  almost  obsolete  in  modern 
faces — seen  in  the  strong,  square  bridge  of  his  nose, 
his  high  arching  brows,  and  the  absence  of  all  bulging 
in  his  forehead,  a  face  approximating  in  type  to  the 
statued  Greek.  He  does  not  mean  intellect  merely,  but 
life :  and  one  feels  that  he  must  arrive  at  his  results 
rather  by  sympathy  and  absorption  than  by  hard  intel 
lectual  processes ;  by  the  effluence  of  power  rather  than 

15 


CALAMUS 

by  direct  and  total  application  of  it.  In  keeping  with 
this, x  his  poems  do  not  have  the  character  of  carefully 
elaborated  specimens  —  of  gems  cut  and  polished  by  the 
intellect,  but  are  warm  and  vascular,  like  living  organisms. 
"  In  the  matter  of  health  he  is  an  exception  to  most 
known  instances.  He  presents  the  rare  phenomenon 
of  a  man  giving  himself  to  intellectual  labor  without 
suffering  the  slightest  detriment  to  his  physical  powers : 
never  knowing  dyspepsia,  nervousness,  ennui,  and  an 
entire  stranger  to  headache  until  his  presence  in  the 
army  hospitals,  and  his  stopping  too  long  consecutively 
after  the  battles  of  the  Wilderness  with  a  collection  of 
gangrened  wounds,  had  inoculated  his  system  with  a 
malignant  virus.  And  this  robust  bodily  health,  as  we 
have  said,  is  one  key  to  his  poems.  The  peculiar  quality 
of  them  —  a  quality  as  of  the  open  air,  the  woods,  the 
shore,  we  believe  to  be  more  or  less  attributable  to  this 
source.  The  absence  of  all  pettiness,  dallying  and  sen- 
timentalism,  follows  from  a  like  cause." 

I  turn  now  to  some  words  written  of  him  about  the 
same  date  by  a  man  well  entitled  to  be  heard  wherever 
Walt  Whitman  is  the  subject  of  discussion.  A  man  well 
worth  knowing  for  his  own  sake  —  a  man  of  genius  —  an 
observer,  a  thinker,  and  a  powerful  writer.  A  warm 
lover  of  Whitman  and  of  the  cause  for  which  Whitman 
lived  and  worked  —  William  Douglas  O'Connor,*  speak- 

*  Three  Tales—  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.     New  York— 1892  — 
pp.  239  et  seq. 

16 


INTRODUCTION 

ing  of  his  friend  in  '67  (just  before  the  earlier  of  the 
letters  here  given  were  written )  says  :  "  He  was  tall 
and  stalwart :  a  brow  not  large,  but  full,  and  seamed 
with  kindly  wrinkles :  a  complexion  of  rosy  clearness : 
heavy-lidded,  firm  blue  eyes,  which  had  a  steadfast  and 
draining  regard  :  a  short,  thick,  gray  beard  almost  white, 
and  thinly  flowing  dark  gray  hair.  His  countenance 
expressed  a  rude  sweetness.  He  was  dressed  in  a  long, 
dark  overcoat,  much  worn,  and  of  such  uncertain  fashion 
that  it  almost  seemed  a  gaberdine.  As  he  stood  there 
in  the  gracious  darkling  light,  he  looked  an  image  of 
long  and  loving  experience  with  men,  of  immovable 
composure  and  charity,  of  serene  wisdom,  of  immortal 
rosy  youth  in  reverend  age.  A  faint  perfume  exhaled 
from  his  garments.  In  the  lapel  of  his  coat  he  wore  a 
sprig  of  holly.  In  his  aspect  were  singularly  blended 
the  prophet  and  the  child.  The  child  in  him  in 
spired  love :  the  prophet,  awe.  He  drew  and  he 
repelled. 

"  In  a  way  quite  in  keeping  with  his  unconventional 
aspect  and  manner  he  moved  with  a  sort  of  measured 
alertness  among  the  group,  paying  his  simple  and  affec 
tionate  addresses  to  each  person,  with  the  air  of  being 
already  on  familiar  terms  with  them,  and  of  knowing  all 
about  them :  thus  establishing  himself  in  close  rapport 
with  every  one,  as  only  a  man  with  powerful  intuitions, 
vivid  impressions,  and  great  magnetic  force  and  dignity 
could  have  done,  and  leaving  them  with  a  sense  as  if 

17 


CALAMUS 

something  electric    and  very  sweet    had  swept   through 

them. 

*  ***** 

"He  advanced  with  solemn  and  stately  tread,  composed 
and  calm,  but  dilated  to  his  fullest  manly  majesty,  and 
from  brow  to  foot  he  seemed  clothed  with  an  august 
and  strong  illumination. 

****** 

"  In  the  long  soundless  pause,  it  seemed  as  if  heaven 
and  earth  were  still.  *  * 

A  change  had  come  upon  him.  The  rosy  color  had 
died  from  his  face  in  a  clear  splendor,  and  his  form,  reg 
nant  and  masculine,  was  clothed  with  inspiration,  as 
with  a  dazzling  aureole.  * 

"  '  Love '  said  the  gray  redeemer,  lifting  his  clear  face, 
bright  with  deathless  smiling,  and  wet  with  the  sweet 
waters  of  immortal  tears,  *  love,  love !  That  includes  all. 
There  is  nothing  in  the  world  but  that  —  nothing  in  all 
the  world.  Better  than  all  is  love.  Love  is  better  than 
all.' " 

That  the  friendship  existing  between  Walt  Whitman 
and  Peter  Doyle  was,  as  compared  with  the  average  senr 
timent  that  passes  under  that  name,  exceptional  and  re 
markable  there  can  be  no  doubt,  but  it  does  not  seem  at 
all  clear  that  there  was  anything  about  it  which  was  out 
of  the  regular  and  ordinary  course  when  considered  as  a 
fact  in  the  life  of  Whitman.  The  present  editor  possesses 
series  of  letters  by  the  poet  to  other  young  men  evincing 

18 


INTRODUCTION 

nearly  as  great  if  not  as  great  affection  on  his  part,  and 
that  section  of  the  Leaves  named  Calamus  ( written  long 
before  he  knew  Doyle )  proves  the  existence  of  previous 
friendships  at  least  equally  warm  and  tender.  I  give  here 
two  letters  at  random  ( I  could  give  a  small  volume  of 
such )  for  the  purpose  of  illustrating  what  seems  to  me 
Whitman's  phenomenal  capacity  for  friendship. 

"Oct.  2,  '68  —  Dear  friend  Harry  Hurt  —  I  thought  I 
would  just  drop  you  a  line  for  yourself  —  but  no  doubt 
you  keep  fully  posted  about  me  by  my  letters  to  Pete,  as 
I  am  willing  you  or  any  of  my  particular  friends  who  wish 
to,  should  read  them  ( he  knows  who  I  would  be  will 
ing  should  read  them  —  I  leave  it  to  him  )  —  Harry,  you 
would  much  enjoy  going  round  N.  Y.  with  me,  if  it  were 
possible,  and  then  how  much  I  should  like  having  you 
with  me.  This  great  city,  with  all  its  crowds  and  splen 
dor,  and  Broadway  fashion  and  women,  and  amusements, 
and  the  river  and  bay,  and  shipping,  and  the  many  mag 
nificent  new  buildings,  and  Central  Park  and  5th  Avenue, 
and  the  endless  processions  of  private  vehicles  and  the 
finest  teams  I  ever  saw,  for  miles  long  of  a  fine  afternoon 
—  altogether,  they  make  up  a  show  that  I  can  richly 
spend  a  month  in  enjoying  —  for  a  change  from  my  Wash 
ington  life.  I  sometimes  think  that  I  am  the  particular 
man  who  enjoys  the  show  of  all  these  things  in  N.  Y. 
more  than  any  other  mortal  —  as  if  was  all  got  up  just  for 
me  to  observe  and  study.  Harry,  I  wish  when  you  see 
Ben.  Thompson,  conductor,  you  would  say  I  sent  him  my 


CALAMUS 

love  and  have  not  forgot  him.  Let  him  read  this  letter. 
I  send  him  a  Newspaper,  the  N.  Y.  Clipper.  I  have 
marked  the  piece  about  the  Five  Points.  I  went  down 
there  myself  for  fun,  three  nights  ago,  with  a  friend  of 
mine,  a  policeman,  and  that  account  in  the  Clipper  is  a 
very  good  description  —  only  not  half  rank  enough.  I 
wish  you  to  tell  John  Towers,  conductor,  I  send  him  my 
love,  and  we  will  see  each  other  again  one  of  these  days. 
I  send  him  a  Clipper  also  with  an  account  of  the  Five 
Points  — Harry,  you  let  one  of  them  lend  you  the  paper, 
and  read  the  account  —  it  will  amuse  you  —  I  was  there 
two  hours  —  it  was  instructive  but  disgusting  —  I  saw 
one  of  the  handsomest  white  girls  there  I  ever  saw,  only 
about  18 — black  and  white  are  all  intermingled." 

The  other  is  as  follows  : 

"Oct.  '68.  Dear  Lewy,  I  will  write  you  just  a  line  to 
let  you  know  I  have  not  forgotten  you.  I  am  here  on 
leave,  and  shall  stay  nearly  all  this  month.  Duffy  is  here, 
driving  on  Broadway  and  5th  av.  line.  He  has  been  up 
the  Hudson  River  this  summer  driving  hotel  coach.  He 
is  the  same  old  Duffy.  I  have  heard  that  William  Sydnor, 
on  65,  was  laid  up  sick.  I  wish  to  hear  about  him,  and 
whether  he  is  well,  and  again  at  work.  If  you  see  him 
tell  him  I  have  not  forgot  him,  but  send  him  my  love  and 
will  be  back  in  Washington  again.  Tell  Johnny  Miller 
there  is  still  a  sprinkling  of  the  old  Broadway  drivers  left. 
Balky  Bill,  Fred  Kelley,  Charley  McLaughlin,  Tom  Riley, 
Prodigal,  Sandy,  etc.,  etc.,  are  still  here.  Frank  Mc- 

20 


INTERVIEW  WITH  PETER  DOYLE 

Kinney,  and  several  other  old  drivers  are  with   Adams 
Express.     Staging  is  rather  dull." 

And  finally  —  far  more  important  in  this  connection 
than  anything  that  I  or  any  one  else  could  say — I  give 
the  result  of  an  interview  with  the  man  to  whom  the 
letters  were  addressed. 

In  May,  1895,  in  company  with  Horace  L.  Traubel,  I 
visited  Doyle,  whom  I  had  known  for  years  but  had  not 
seen  for  a  long  time.  I  explained  to  him  that  it  was 
my  intention  to  publish  these  letters  and  asked  him  if  he 
felt  there  was  any  insuperable  objection  ?  He  first  in 
quired — "  Of  what  use  are  they?"  and  then,  upon  my 
assurance  that  ( in  some  measure  )  they  would  do  for  the 
world  the  same  service  they  had  done  for  him,  he  further 
inquired:  "Do  you  think  Walt,  if  he  were  here,  if  he 
could  be  asked,  would  be  willing?  Whereupon,  I, 
answering  affirmatively,  was  told  that  I  should  "  go  ahead,'* 
doing  that  which  seemed  to  me  best,  since  he  felt  "  en 
tirely  safe"  in  my  hands.  It  was  likewise  by  Doyle's 
consent  that  Mr.  Traubel  took  notes  of  the  conversation 
that  ensued,  and  it  is  only  after  his  revision  that  these 
are  printed  in  this  volume.  The  conversation  was  desul 
tory  but  serves  to  show  what  manner  of  man  Doyle  is  and 
by  what  sacred  ties  he  feels  himself  still  indissolubly 
bound  to  Whitman.  Mr.  Doyle  is  reported  almost  abso 
lutely  in  his  own  words.  He  said  :  — 

I  was  born  in  1847,   in  Ireland,  and  was  about  two 
21 


CALAMUS 

years  old  when  brought  to  America.  Father  was  a  black 
smith.  We  lived  our  first  years  in  America  at  Alexan 
dria,  Virginia.  Bad  times  came  on  in  1856-7.  Father 
went  to  Richmond,  where  he  had  been  offered  a  place  in 
an  iron  foundry.  While  there  I  was  a  member  of  the 
Fayette  Artillery,  and  when  the  war  broke  out  I  entered 
the  Confederate  Army.  Getting  my  parole  in  Washing 
ton,  forced  to  look  out  for  myself,  I  hung  round  that  region 
with  no  particular  object  in  view.  I  might  have  been 
more  successful  somewhere  else,  but  I  was  there,  and  so 
I  just  stuck  to  the  case  as  it  was.  I  became  a  horse-car 
conductor.  This  other  business  came  later  on.  Yes,  I 
will  talk  of  Walt,  nothing  suits  me  better.  I  will  com 
mence  anywhere.  When  you  are  tired  stop  me.  Walt 
never  used  to  take  much  to  newspaper  men  in  the  old 
time.  There  were  some  few  in  Washington  he  rather 
favored.  They  always  made  a  good  deal  of  him,  of  course 
— that  is,  they  came  to  him  often  enough  for  news  or 
opinions  or  such  stuff.  He  could  shut  a  man  off  in  the 
best  style,  you  know.  He  had  a  freezing  way  in  him  — 
yet  was  never  harsh.  But  people  got  to  know  that  he 
meant  what  he  said.  He  said  "  no  "  and  "no"  it  was.  I 
remember  one  special  night,  we  met  a  half-loaded  fellow 
with  some  of  his  journalist  friends —  a  newspaper  man, 
since  prominent,  who  was  then  pretty  well  acquanted  with 
Walt.  This  man  was  offensively  familiar  with  Walt  — 
insisted  on  introducing  his  friends,  and  all  that.  Walt 
held  him  off — froze  him  out  —  would  not  be  introduced. 

22 


INTERVIEW  WITH  PETER  DOYLE 

It  was  simply  impossible  for  the  intruder  to  make  his 
point.  Now,  Walt  was  always  dignified  —  simple  enough, 
too  —  and  this  is  a  sample  of  the  manner  he  showed  to  all 
alike,  famous  or  plain  folks,  who  stepped  across  what 
he  thought  his  private  border-line. 

How  different  Walt  was  then  in  Washington  from  the 
Walt  you  knew  in  the  later  years!  You  would  not  be 
lieve  it.  He  was  an  athlete  —  great,  great.  I  knew  him 
to  do  wonderful  lifting,  running,  walking.  You  ask  where 
I  first  met  him  ?  It  is  a  curious  story.  We  felt  to  each 
other  at  once.  I  was  a  conductor.  The  night  was  very 
stormy, — he  had  been  over  to  see  Burroughs  before  he 
came  down  to  take  the  car  —  the  storm  was  awful.  Walt 
had  his  blanket  —  it  was  thrown  round  his  shoulders  — 
he  seemed  like  an  old  sea-captain.  He  was  the  only 
passenger,  it  was  a  lonely  night,  so  I  thought  I  would  go 
in  and  talk  with  him.  Something  in  me  made  me  do  it 
and  something  in  him  drew  me  that  way.  He  used  to 
say  there  was  something  in  me  had  the  same  effect  on 
him.  Anyway,  I  went  into  the  car.  We  were  familiar  at 
once  —  I  put  my  hand  on  his  knee — we  understood.  He 
did  not  get  out  at  the  end  of  the  trip  —  in  fact  went  all 
the  way  back  with  me.  I  think  the  year  of  this  was 
1866.  From  that  time  on  we  were  the  biggest  sort  of 
friends.  I  stayed  in  Washington  until  1872,  when  I  went 
on  the  Pennsylvania  Railroad.  Walt  was  then  in  the 
Attorney-General's  office.  I  would  frequently  go  out  to 
the  Treasury  to  see  Walt ;  Hubley  Ashton  was  commonly 

23 


CALAMUS 

there  —  he  would  be  leaning  familiarly  on  the  desk  where 
Walt  would  be  writing.  They  were  fast  friends — talked 
a  good  deal  together.  Walt  rode  with  me  often  —  often 
at  noon,  always  at  night.  He  rode  round  with  me  on  the 
last  trip  —  sometimes  rode  for  several  trips.  Everybody 
knew  him.  He  had  a  way  of  taking  the  measure  of  the 
driver's  hands — had  calf- skin  gloves  made  for  them  every 
winter  in  Georgetown  —  these  gloves  were  his  personal 
presents  to  the  men.  He  saluted  the  men  on  the  other 
cars  as  we  passed  —  threw  up  his  hand.  They  cried  to 
him,  "Hullo,  Walt!"  and  he  would  reply,  "Ah,  there!" 
or  something  like.  He  was  welcome  always  as  the 
flowers  in  May.  Everybody  appreciated  his  attentions, 
and  he  seemed  to  appreciate  our  attentions  to  him. 
Teach  the  boys  to  read,  write  and  cipher?  I  never  heard 
of,  or  saw  that.  There  must  be  some  mistake.  He  did 
not  make  much  of  what  people  call  learning.  But  he 
gave  us  papers,  books,  and  other  such  articles,  too.  In 
his  habits  he  was  very  temperate.  He  did  not  smoke. 
People  seemed  to  think  it  odd  that  he  didn't,  for  every 
body  in  Washington  smoked.  But  he  seemed  to  have  a 
positive  dislike  for  tobacco.  He  was  a  very  moderate 
drinker.  You  might  have  thought  something  different, 
to  see  the  ruddiness  of  his  complexion  —  but  his  com 
plexion  had  no  whiskey  in  it.  We  might  take  a  drink  or 
two  together  occasionally  —  nothing  more.  It  was  our 
practice  to  go  to  a  hotel  on  Washington  Avenue  after  I 
was  done  with  my  car.  I  remember  the  place  well  — 

24 


INTERVIEW  WITH  PETER  DOYLE 

there  on  the  corner.  Like  as  not  I  would  go  to  sleep  — 
lay  my  head  on  my  hands  on  the  table.  Walt  would  stay 
there,  wait,  watch,  keep  me  undisturbed  —  would  wake 
me  up  when  the  hour  of  closing  came.  In  his  eating  he 
was  vigorous,  had  a  big  appetite,  but  was  simple  in  his 
tastes,  not  caring  for  any  great  dishes. 

I  never  knew  a  case  of  Walt's  being  bothered  up  by  a 
woman.  In  fact,  he  had  nothing  special  to  do  with  any 
woman  except  Mrs.  O'Connor  and  Mrs.  Burroughs. 
His  disposition  was  different.  Woman  in  that  sense 
never  came  into  his  head.  Walt  was  too  clean,  he  hated 
anything  which  was  not  clean.  No  trace  of  any  kind  of 
dissipation  in  him.  I  ought  to  know  about  him  those 
years  —  w£  were  awf ul  close  together.  In  the  afternoon  I 
would  go  up  to  the  Treasury  building  and  wait  for  him  to 
get  through  if  he  was  busy.  Then  we'd  stroll  out  together, 
often  without  any  plan,  going  wherever  we  happened  to 
get.  This  occurred  days  in  and  out,  months  running. 
Towards  women  generally  Walt  had  a  good  way  —  he  very 
easily  attracted  them.  But  he  did  that  with  men,  too. 
And  it  was  an  irresistible  attraction.  I've  had  many  tell 
me  —  men  and  women.  He  had  an  easy,  gentle  way — 
the  same  for  all,  no  matter  who  they  were  or  what  their 
sex. 

Walt  was  not  at  the  theatre  the  night  Lincoln  was  shot. 
It  was  me  he  got  all  that  from  in  the  book  —  they  are 
almost  my  words.  I  heard  that  the  President  and  his 
wife  would  be  present  and  made  up  my  mind  to  go. 

25 


CALAMUS 

There  was  a  great  crowd  in  the  building.  I  got  into  the 
second  gallery.  There  was  nothing  extraordinary  in  the 
performance.  I  saw  everything  on  the  stage  and  was  in 
a  good  position  to  see  the  President's  box.  I  heard  the 
pistol  shot.  I  had  no  idea  what  it  was,  what  it  meant — 
it  was  sort  of  muffled.  I  really  knew  nothing  of  what  had 
occurred  until  Mrs.  Lincoln  leaned  out  of  the  box  and  cried, 
"The  President  is  shot !"  I  needn't  tell  you  what  I  felt 
then,  or  saw.  It  is  all  put  down  in  Walt's  piece  —  that 
piece  is  exactly  right.  I  saw  Booth  on  the  cushion  of  the 
box,  saw  him  jump  over,  saw  him  catch  his  foot,  which 
turned,  saw  him  fall  on  the  stage.  He  got  up  on  his  feet, 
cried  out  something  which  I  could  not  hear  for  the  hub- 
hub  and  disappeared.  I  suppose  I  lingered  almost  the 
last  person.  A  soldier  came  into  the  gallery,  saw  me  still 
there,  called  to  me :  "  Get  out  of  here !  we're  going  to 
burn  this  damned  building  down !  "  I  said  :  "  If  that  is  so 
I'll  get  out !  " 

We  took  great  walks  together  —  off  towards  or  to  Alex 
andria,  often.  We  went  plodding  along  the  road,  Walt 
always  whistling  or  singing.  We  would  talk  of  ordinary 
matters.  He  would  recite  poetry,  especially  Shakespeare 
—  he  would  hum  airs  or  shout  in  the  woods.  He  was 
always  active,  happy,  cheerful,  good-natured.  Many  of 
our  walks  were  taken  at  night.  He  never  seemed  to  tire. 
When  we  got  to  the  ferry  opposite  Alexandria  I  would  say 
to  myself,  "I'll  draw  the  line  here  —  I  won't  go  a  step 
further."  But  he  would  take  everything  for  granted — 

26 


INTERVIEW  WITH  PETER  DOYLE 

we  would  cross  the  river  and  walk  back  home  on  the  other 
side.  Walt  knew  all  about  the  stars.  He  was  eloquent 
when  he  talked  of  them.  It  was  surprising  what  he  knew 
of  the  operas,  too,  and  the  concerts  of  the  Marine  Band 
always  tempted  him.  He  never  failed  these  concerts  — 
we  usually  strayed  in  there  together.  The  old  man  Scala 
led  the  band.  He  used  to  play  a  piece  called  "The  Rival 
Birds  "  —  Walt  could  get  it  off  almost  as  good  as  the  band. 

He  was  a  long  time  after  me  to  go  to  New  York,  while 
his  mother  was  alive.  I  asked  him:  "Will  we  stop  there 
with  your  mother  ?  "  He  was  a  little  doubtful  about  that. 
We  both  stayed  in  Jersey  City.  The  Whitmans  lived  on 
Portland  Avenue.  We  took  our  dinner  with  Mrs.  Whit 
man.  We  would  take  a  bus-ride  in  the  morning  —  then  go 
to  Brooklyn  and  have  dinner.  After  we  had  had  our  din 
ner  she  would  always  say  —  "  Now  take  a  long  walk  to  aid 
digestion."  Mrs.  Whitman  was  a  lovely  woman.  There 
were  just  the  three  of  us  eating  together.  Walt  and  I 
had  a  week  of  it  there  in  New  York  that  time.  It  was 
always  impressed  upon  my  mind  —  the  opera  he  took  me 
to  see —  "  Polyato."  All  the  omnibus  drivers  knew  him. 
We  always  climbed  up  to  the  top  of  the  busses,  our  heels 
hanging  over. 

Yes,  Walt  often  spoke  to  me  of  his  books.  I  would 
tell  him  "  I  don't  know  what  you  are  trying  to  get  at." 
And  this  is  the  idea  I  would  always  arrive  at  from  his  reply. 
All  other  peoples  in  the  world  have  had  their  representa 
tives  in  literature :  here  is  a  great  big  race  with  no  repre- 

27 


CALAMUS 

sentative.  He  would  undertake  to  furnish  that  represen 
tative.  It  was  also  his  object  to  get  a  real  human  being 
into  a  book.  This  had  never  been  done  before.  These 
were  the  two  things  he  tried  to  impress  upon  me  every 
time  we  talked  of  books  —  especially  of  his  books.  Walt 
used  often  to  put  a  piece  in  Forney's  Washington 
Chronicle.  We  never  really  talked  about  politics.  I  was 
a  Catholic  —  am  still  supposed  to  be  one.  But  I  have 
not  been  to  church  for  so  many  years  I  would  not  know 
what  to  do  there.  He  had  pretty  vigorous  ideas  on 
religion,  but  he  never  said  anything  slighting  the  church. 
I  don't  know  if  he  felt  different  from  what  he  spoke.  He 
never  went  to  church  —  didn't  like  form,  ceremonies — 
didn't  seem  to  favor  preachers  at  all.  I  asked  him  about 
the  hereafter.  "There  must  be  something,"  he  said — 
"  there  can't  be  a  locomotive  unless  there  is  somebody  to 
run  it."  I  have  heard  him  say  that  if  a  person  was  a 
right  kind  of  person  —  and  I  guess  he  thought  all  persons 
right  kind  of  persons — he  couldn't  be  destroyed  in  the 
next  world  or  this. 

Dollars  and  cents  had  no  weight  with  Walt  at  all.  He 
didn't  spend  recklessly,  but  he  spent  everything  —  mostly 
on  other  people.  Money  was  a  thing  he  didn't  think  of 
as  other  people  thought  of  it.  It  came  and  went,  that  was 
all  there  was  to  it.  He  did'nt  buy  many  books,  but  I  re 
member  that  once  he  bought  a  set  of  Alexander  Dumas, 
which  afterward  disappeared,  I  could  not  tell  where, 
probably  it  was  given  away. 

28 


INTERVIEW  WITH  PETER  DOYLE 

I  have  Walt's  raglan  here  [goes  to  closet — puts  it  <?#],  I 
now  and  then  put  it  on,  lay  down,  think  I  am  in  the  old 
times.  Then  he  is  with  me  again.  It's  the  only  thing  I 
kept  amongst  many  old  things.  When  I  get  it  on  and 
stretched  out  on  the  old  sofa  I  am  very  well  contented. 
It  is  like  Aladdin's  lamp.  I  do  not  ever  for  a  minute 
lose  the  old  man.  He  is  always  near  by.  When  I  am  in 
trouble  —  in  a  crisis  —  I  ask  myself,  "  What  would  Walt 
have  done  under  these  circumstances  ? "  and  whatever  I 
decide  Walt  would  have  done  that  I  do. 

Walt's  mood  was  very  even,  but  I  saw  him  mad  as  a 
March  hare  one  night.  He  was  on  the  hind  end  of  my 
car,  near  him  stood  an  old  fellow  (  a  carpet-bag  senator 

—  I  don't  know  his  name  )  —  near-sighted,  wore  glasses, 
peevish,  lantern-jawed,  dyspeptic.       They  rubbed  against 
each  other.      The  first  thing  I  knew  there  was  a  rumpus, 
the  old  man  cussed  Walt —  said,  "  Get  out  of  the  way,  you 

—  "  and  Walt  only  answered:   "Damn  you!"     The  old 
man  had  a  loaded  stick  with  him — he  raised  it  —  would 
have  struck  Walt  and  perhaps  killed  him  but  I  came  be 
tween  just  in  time.     I  cried :  "  Get  in  the  car,    Walt ! " 
( they  were  both  in  the  street  by  this  time )  and  I  was 
glad  to  see  the  affair  ended  that  way.        No  explanations 
were  made.     All  effects  of  it  vanished  at  once  from  Walt's 
face  and  manner.     Walt's  temper  was  very  even,  it  was 
a  rare  thing  for  him  to  get  angry  and  he  must  have  been 
greatly  provoked.      No  man  ever  had  better  control  over 
himself.     He  treated  everybody  fairly,  generously.        He 

29 


CALAMUS 

wasn't  meek,  but  he  was  no  fighting-cock.  He  always 
had  a  few  pennies  for  beggars  along  the  street.  I'd  get 
out  of  patience  sometimes,  he  was  so  lenient.  "Don't 
you  think  its  wrong?"  I'd  ask  him.  "No,"  he  always 
said —  "  it's  never  wrong,  Peter."  Wouldn't  they  drink 
it  away  ?  He  shook  his  head:  "no,  and  if  they  did  it 
wouldn't  alter  the  matter.  For  it  is  better  to  give  to  a 
dozen  who  do  not  need  what  is  given  than  to  give  to  none 
at  all  and  so  miss  the  one  that  should  be  fed."  Walt  was 
kind  to  animals.  He  admired  them,  but  he  and  ani 
mals  never  came  to  close  quarters.  His  treatment  of 
them  was  always  generous,  I  never  knew  him  cruel 
to  man  or  beast.  He  had  a  dog  once  —  Tip  —  in  Cam- 
den,  but  he  was  not  fond  of  animals  for  pets  or  especially 
glad  to  have  them  round  him. 

In  Washington  Walt  told  me  he  had  made  up  his  mind 
to  celebrate  the  anniversary  of  the  death  of  Lincoln  every 
year.  I  have  heard  that  he  did  it  until  his  death.  He 
called  the  thing  a  "  religious  duty."  Do  you  remember 
the  big  black  stick  he  carried  even  up  to  the  last  ?  I  gave 
it  to  him.  It  delighted  him.  Gifts  of  that  sort  he  always 
valued  highly  —  the  plainest,  it  might  be,  the  most. 

I  once  had  the  manuscript  of  "  Drum  Taps "  ;  Walt 
made  me  a  present  of  it.  But  somehow,  when  we  moved, 
the  manuscript  disappeared  —  was  either  destroyed  or 
stolen.  Part  of  it  was  in  print,  but  most  of  it  was  written. 
All  his  manuscript  was  pieced  together  in  that  fashion. 
At  the  time  I  did  not  appreciate  it  as  I  should  now. 

30 


INTERVIEW  WITH  PETER  DOYLE 

Walt's  manners  were  always  perfectly  simple.  We 
would  tackle  the  farmers  who  came  into  town,  buy  a 
water-melon,  sit  down  on  the  cellar  door  of  Bacon's 
grocery,  Seventh  &  Pennsylvania  Avenue,  halve  it  and 
eat  it.  People  would  go  by  and  laugh.  Walt  would  only 
smile  and  say,  "They  can  have  the  laugh  —  we  have  the 
melon." 

You  couldn't  get  a  better  idea  of  this  simplicity  than 
if  I  tell  you  of  a  visit  paid  him  by  Edmund  Yates,  in 
1873,  while  he  laid  in  the  attic  there  in  Washington, 
paralyzed,  I  being  his  nurse.  Yates  called  and  sent  up 
his  card.  After  some  objections,  mostly  on  my  part,  I 
referred  the  matter  to  Walt,  who  instantly  said  :  "  Admit 
him — let  him  come  in."  When  Yates  got  into  the  room 
Walt  saluted  him  by  his  first  name  and  he  addressed  Walt 
as  "  Mr.  Whitman."  No  two  men  were  ever  more  different. 
Yates  elegant,  dressy,  cultured — Walt  plain,  sick  in  bed, 
his  room  all  littered  and  poor.  But  both  men  were  per 
fectly  at  home.  Yates  did  not  seem  fazed,  Walt 
never  was.  In  a  few  minutes  they  were  in  the  midst  of 
animated  talk.  When  Yates,  after  awhile,  got  up  and 
said :  "  Good  bye  "  they  seemed  as  if  they  had  known 
each  other  many  years. 

Yes,  Traubel,  I  know  who  it  was  Walt  meant  when  he 
spoke  to  you  of  Grant's  morning  visits  afoot  to  the  old 
woman.  Grant  was  then  President.  He  would  stroll 
from  the  White  House  alone.  The  woman  he  visited  in 
this  way  was  a  widow,  well  known  in  Washington.  Walt 


CALAMUS 

would  laugh  at  me  trying  to  get  the  President  to  ride  —  I 
would  motion  Grant  —  he  would  shake  his  head.  Then 
later  on  we  would  see  him  at  the  widow's  window, 
outside,  leaning  on  the  sill.  Grant  was  very  fond  of  the 
old  lady — in  fact,  she  was  much  liked  by  men  generally. 

Garfield  and  Walt  were  very  good  friends.  Garfield 
had  a  large  manly  voice ;  we  would  be  going  along  the 
Avenue  together  —  Walt  and  me  —  and  we  would  hear 
Garfield's  salutation  at  the  rear.  He  always  signalled 
Walt  with  the  cry  :  "  After  all  not  to  create  only  ! "  When 
we  heard  that  we  always  knew  who  was  coming.  Garfield 
would  catch  up  and  they  would  enter  into  a  talk ;  I  would 
fall  back  sometimes.  They  spoke  of  books  mainly  but 
of  every  other  earthly  thing  also.  Often  they  would  not 
get  through  the  first  run  and  would  go  up  and  down  the 
Avenue  several  times  together — I  was  out  of  it.  Our 
tramping  ground  was  between  the  Capitol  and  the 
Treasury. 

Towards  the  end  I  saw  very  little  of  Walt,  but  he  con 
tinued  to  write  me.  He  never  altered  his  manner  toward 
me ;  here  are  a  few  more  recent  postal  cards,  you  will  see 
that  they  show  the  same  old  love.  I  know  he  wondered 
why  I  saw  so  little  of  him  the  three  or  four  years  before 
he  died,  but  when  I  explained  it  to  him  he  understood. 
Neverthless,  I  am  sorry  for  it  now.  The  obstacles  were 
too  small  to  have  made  the  difference  I  allowed.  It 
was  only  this :  In  the  old  days  I  had  always  open  doors 
to  Walt  —  going,  coming,  staying,  as  I  chose.  Now,  I 

32 


INTERVIEW  WITH  PETER  DOYLE 

had  to  run  the  gauntlet  of  Mrs.  Davis  and  a  nurse  and 
what  not.  Somehow,  I  could  not  do  it.  It  seemed  as 
if  things  were  not  as  they  should  have  been.  Then  I  had 
a  mad  impulse  to  go  over  and  nurse  him.  I  was  his 
proper  nurse  —  he  understood  me  —  I  understood  him. 
We  loved  each  other  deeply  But  there  were  things  pre 
venting  that,  too.  I  saw  them.  I  should  have  gone  to 
see  him,  at  least,  in  spite  of  everything.  I  know  it  now, 
I  did  not  know  it  then,  but  it  is  all  right.  Walt  realized 
I  never  swerved  from  him  —  he  knows  it  now  —  that  is 
enough. 

I  have  talked  a  long  while.  Let  us  drink  up  this  beer 
together.  It's  a  fearful  warm  day.  You  gentlemen  take 
the  glasses,  there;  I  will  drink  right  from  the  bottle. 
Now,  here's  to  the  dear  old  man  and  the  dear  old  times 
— and  the  new  times,  too,  and  every  one  that's  to  come! 


33 


AMONG  the  men  and  women  the  multitude, 

I  perceive  one  picking  me  out  by  secret  and  divine  signs, 

Acknowledging  none  else,  not  parent,  wife,  husband,  brother, 

child,  any  nearer  than  I  am, 
Some  are  baffled,  but  that  one  is  not  —  that  one  knows  me. 

Ah  lover  and  perfect  equal, 

I  meant  that  you  should  discover  me  so  by  faint  indirections, 
And  I  when  I  meet  you  mean  to  discover  you  by  the  like  in  you. 

Leaves  of  Grass  (Ed'n  1892),  p.  in. 


34 


LETTERS    OF    1868 

I 

NEW  YORK,  Friday,  25  Sept.,  1868.     DEAR 
BOY.     I   received  your  second  letter  yester 
day —  it  is  a  real  comfort  to  me  to  get  such 
letters  from    you,  dear  friend.     Every  word 
does  me  good.     The  Star  came  all  right,  was  quite  inter 
esting.     I  suppose  you  got  my  second  letter  last  Wednes 
day.     There   is    nothing   new  or   special  to  write  about 
to-day,  still  I  thought  I  would   send   you  a  few  lines  for 
Sunday.     I  put  down  off  hand  and  write  all  about  myself 
and  my  doings,  etc.,  because  I  suppose  that  will  be  really 
what  my  dear  comrade  wants   most  to  hear  while  we  are 
separated.     I   am  doing  a  little    literary  work    according 
as  I  feel  in  the  mood  —  composing  on  my  books.     I  am 
having  a  small  edition  of   Leaves  of  Grass  for  1867  fixed 
up   and   printed.*     This  and  some  other  things  give  me 

*  Drum-Taps  was  published  early  in  1865.  Then  (upon  Lincoln's 
assassination,  14  April)  it  was  withdrawn  from  the  market  until 
Sequel  to  Drum-Taps,  containing  When  Lilacs  Last  in  the  Door- 
Yard  Bloom*  d  was  ready.  In  1867  an  edition  of  L.  of  G.  was 
published  but  these  two  sections  were  not  included  in  it.  Later  in 
1868,  Drum-Taps  and  its  sequel  were  incorporated  into  the  Leaves 
but  without  change  of  the  title  page.  It  is  this  work  of  incorpora 
tion  and  the  issue  of  a  small  edition  of  the  thus  reconstituted  L.  of 
C.  which  is  referred  to  in  the'  text. 

35 


CALAMUS 

a  little  occupation.  Upon  the  whole  though  I  don't 
do  much  but  go  around  a  great  deal  —  eat  my  rations 
every  time  —  sleep  at  night  like  a  top  —  and  am  having 
good  times,  so  far,  in  a  quiet  way,  enjoying  New  York, 
the  society  of  my  mother  and  lots  of  friends.  Among 
other  things  I  spend  a  portion  of  the  day  with  the  pilots 
of  the  ferry  boats  sailing  on  the  river.  The  river  and 
bay  of  New  York  and  Brooklyn  are  always  a  great  attrac 
tion  to  me.  It  is  a  lively  scene.  At  either  flood  or  ebb 
the  water  is  always  rushing  along  as  if  in  haste,  and  the 
river  is  often  crowded  with  steamers,  ships  and  small 
craft  moving  in  different  directions,  some  coming  from 
sea,  others  going  out.  Among  the  pilots  are  some  of  my 
particular  friends — when  I  see  them  up  in  the  pilot 
house  on  my  way  to  Brooklyn  I  go  up  and  sail  to  and 
fro  several  trips.  I  enjoy  an  hour  or  two  sail  of  this  kind 
very  much  indeed.  My  mother  and  folks  are  well  and 
are  engaged  just  these  times  in  the  delightful  business  of 
moving.  I  should  assist,  but  have  hired  a  substitute  in 
the  shape  of  a  stout  young  laboring  man.  I  send  you  by 
mail  a  copy  of  the  Broadway  [Magazine]  with  the  piece  in 
the  same  as  I  had  in  the  car  one  day.  It  will  not  inter 
est  you  much  only  as  something  coming  from  me.  I 
think  of  you  very  often,  dearest  comrade,  and  with  more 
calmness  than  when  I  was  there.  I  find  it  first  rate  to 
think  of  you,  Pete,  and  to  know  that  you  are  there  all 
right  and  that  I  shall  return  and  we  will  be  together 
again.  I  don't  know  what  I  should  do  if  I  hadn't  you  to 

36 


LETTERS  OF  1868 

think  of  and  look  forward  to.  Tell  Tom  Hassett,  on  No, 
7,  that  I  wish  to  be  remembered  to  him  particular.  Pete. 
I  hope  this  will  find  you  entirely  well  of  your  cold.  I  am 
glad  to  hear  that  your  mother  is  all  right  of  her  cold.  This 
is  the  time  of  year  when  they  are  apt  to  be  pretty  trouble 
some.  I  should  like  to  have  seen  that  match  played 
between  the  Nationals  and  Olympic. 


II 

New  York,  29  Sept.,  1868.  DEAR  BOY  PETE.  It  is 
splendid  here  to-day  and  I  am  feeling  first  rate.  We 
have  had  quite  a  dark  and  rainy  spell,  but  now  the  pros 
pect  is  good  weather,  clear  sky,  bright  sun,  coolish  and 
no  dust.  I  shall  spend  an  hour  or  two  on  the  river  to 
day.  Your  letter  of  the  27th,  Sunday,  came  this  morn 
ing.  Also  two  Stars,  25th  and  26th,  the  latter  with 
Hinton's  speech,  the  other  containing  an  item  about  me. 
The  previous  Star  arrived  with  your  note  of  23rd  written 
just  as  you  were  going  to  see  the  Black  Crook — and  next 
morning  another  Star  came.  Peter,  you  are  a  good  boy 
and  shall  have  your  reward  in  heaven  if  not  on  earth. 

Now  how  about  that  cold  ?  I  see  you  went  to  work 
Saturday.  You  seem  to  be  under  the  weather  more  than 
I  thought.  Dear  Comrade,  I  hope  this  will  find  you  all  right 
and  well  as  ever.  I  suppose  you  are  working  this  week. 
Yesterday  I  spent  most  of  the  day  in  Brooklyn  helping 
the  folks  to  finish  up  the  moving  business.  Got  through 

37 


CALAMUS 

just  after  dark.  I  have  not  been  to  any  amusements  yet. 
Somehow  I  don't  seem  to  care  about  them  and  I  go 
around  enough  during  the  day.  There  is  considerable 
political  excitement  here  —  banners  swung  across  the 
streets  almost  every  block,  and  big  transparencies  in  front 
of  the  different  headquarters.  I  have  seen  several  splen 
did  torch-light  processions  and  out  door  meetings,  etc.,  of 
course  the  great  majority  in  New  York  and  Brooklyn  is 
for  Seymour  and  Blair.*  I  will  now  bid  you  good-bye 
for  this  time  and  God  bless  you,  dear  Comrade,  and  keep 
you.  all  right.  Will  write  a  line  to  No.  6.  And  will 
speak  to  the  other  boys  in  my  next. 


Ill 

New  York,  Oct.  2,  1868.  DEAR  BOY  AND  COMRADE. 
You  say  it  is  a  pleasure  to  get  my  letters  —  well  boy,  it  is 
a  real  pleasure  to  me  to  write  to  you.  I  just  write,  off 
hand,  whatever  comes  up,  and,  as  I  said  before,  mostly 
about  myself  and  my  own  doings.  There  have  been 
some  tremendous  fires  here — one  in  Brooklyn  —  eight  or 
ten  first  class  steam  fire  engines  out — tell  Harry  on  No. 
1 1  he  would  see  quite  a  change  in  the  fire  department.  I 
have  more  than  I  can  attend  to  here.  I  find  myself  sur 
rounded  by  friends,  many  old  ones,  some  new  ones,  some 
young  and  attractive,  and  plenty  of  invitations  and  amuse- 

*  Democratic  candidates  for  the  presidency  and  vice-presidency  in 
fall  of  '68. 

38 


LETTERS  OF  1868 

merits.  I  have  received  an  invitation  from  a  gentlemen 
and  wife,  friends  of  mine,  at  Providence,  R.  I.,  and  shall 
go  there  and  spend  a  few  days  latter  part  of  October. 
How  about  the  cold?  I  hope  it  is  well.  Dear  Pete, 
with  all  my  kind  friends  here  and  invitations,  etc., 
though  I  love  them  all  and  gratefully  reciprocate  their  kind 
ness,  I  finally  turn  to  you  and  think  of  you  there.  Well,  I 
guess  I  have  written  enough  for  this  time.  Dear  Pete,  I 
will  now  bid  you  good-bye  for  the  present.  Take  care  of 
yourself  and  God  bless  you,  my  loving  comrade.  I  will 
write  again  soon. 

IV 

Oct.  6,  1868.  DEAR  PETE.  There  is  nothing  special 
with  me  to  write  to  you  about.  The  time  slips  away 
mighty  quick.  It  seems  but  a  day  or  two  since  I  left 
Washington  yet  am  now  on  the  fourth  week  of  my  fur 
lough.  Last  night  was  about  the  greatest  political  show  I 
ever  saw  even  in  New  York  —  a  grand  Democratic  meeting 
and  torch  light  processions.  I  was  out  in  the  midst  of 
them,  to  see  the  sights.  I  always  enjoy  seeing  the  City 
let  loose  and  on  the  rampage  as  it  was  last  night  to  the 
fullest  extent.  I  cannot  begin  to  tell  you  how  the  Demo 
crats  showed  themselves  by  thousands  and  tens  of 
thousands.  The  whole  City  was  lit  up  with  torches. 
Cannons  were  fired  all  night  in  various  parts  of  the  City. 
As  I  was  on  my  way  home  in  a  2nd  Avenue  car  between 
1 2  and  i  o'clock  we  got  blocked  in  by  a  great  part  of  the 

39 


CALAMUS 

returning  procession.  Of  course  we  had  to  just  stand  and 
take  it.  I  enjoyed  it  hugely  from  the  front  platform. 
They  were  nearly  an  hour  passing  us,  streaming  both 
sides.  In  the  procession  were  all  sorts  of  objects,  models 
of  ships  forty  or  fifty  feet  long,  full  manned,  cars  of 
liberty  with  women,  etc.,  etc.  The  ranks  spread  across 
the  street,  and  everybody  carried  a  blazing  torch.  Fire 
works  were  going  off  in  every  direction.  The  sky  was 
full  of  big  balloons  letting  off  rockets  and  Roman  candles 
'way  up  among  the  stars.  The  excitement,  the  rush,  and 
the  endless  torches  gave  me  great  pleasure.  Ever  and 
anon  the  cannon,  some  near  some  distant.  I  heard  them 
long  after  I  got  to  bed.  It  sounded  like  a  distant  engage 
ment.  I  send  you  the  Herald  with  a  sort  of  account  of 
the  show,  but  it  doesn't  do  half  justice  to  it. —  The 
speeches  were  of  no  account  at  all. 

I  suppose  you  got  a  letter  and  paper  from  me  Saturday, 
Oct.  3rd.  I  received  your  welcome  letter  of  Oct.  ist, 
also  the  Star.  I  read  Mr.  Noyes'  western  letters  with 
pleasure.  So  you  have  something  new  in  R.  R. —  new 
offices  and  rules.  The  R.  R.  [street  railroad]  business 
here  is  very  different.  They  go  through  these  long  routes 
on  the  rush  —  no  mercy  to  the  cattle.  The  3rd 
Avenue  R.  R.  lost  36  horses  in  one  day  last  summer, 
one  of  those  hot  days.  We  are  having  pleasant  weather 
just  now,  seems  like  Indian  summer.  So  long,  dear 
Pete.  From  your  loving  comrade,  WALT. 


40 


LETTERS  OF  1868 


New  York,  Oct.  9,  1868.  DEAR  PETE.  It  is  splendid 
here  this  forenoon  —  bright  and  cool.  I  was  out  early 
taking  a  short  walk  by  the  river  only  two  squares  from 
where  I  live.  I  received  your  letter  last  Monday,  also 
the  Star  same  date,  and  glad  enough  to  hear  from  you 
and  the  oftener  the  better,  every  word  is  good  (I  am 
grateful  to  these  young  men  on  the  R.  R.  for  their  love 
and  remembrance  to  me  —  Dave  and  Jim  and  Charley 
Sorrell,  Tom  Hassett,  Harry  on  No.  n).  I  sent  you  a 
letter  on  the  6th  which  I  suppose  you  received  next  day. 
Tell  Henry  Hurt  I  received  his  letter  of  Oct.  5th  all 
right,  and  that  it  was  welcome.  Political  meetings  here 
every  night.  The  coming  Pennsylvania  and  Ohio  elec 
tions  cause  much  talk  and  excitement.  The  fall  is  upon 
us ;  overcoats  are  in  demand.  I  already  begin  to  think 
about  my  return  to  Washington.  A  month  has  nearly 
passed  away.  I  have  received  an  invitation  from  a 
gentleman  and  his  wife,  friends  of  mine,  at  Providence, 
R.  I.,  and  shall  probably  go  down  there  and  spend  a  few 
days  latter  part  of  October.  Shall  I  tell  you  about  it  or 
part  of  it  just  to  fill  up  ?  I  generally  spend  the  forenoon 
in  my  room  writing,  etc.,  then  take  a  bath  fix  up  and  go 
out  about  12  and  loafe  somewhere  or  call  on  someone 
down  town  or  on  business,  or  perhaps  if  it  is  very  pleas 
ant  and  I  feel  like  it  ride  a  trip  with  some  driver  friend 
on  Broadway  from  23rd  Street  to  Bowling  Green,  three 


CALAMUS 

miles  each  way.  (Every  day  I  find  I  have  plenty  to  do, 
every  hour  is  occupied  with  something.)  You  know  it  is 
a  never  ending  amusement  and  study  and  recreation  for 
me  to  ride  a  couple  of  hours  of  a  pleasant  afternoon  on 
a  Broadway  stage  in  this  way.  You  see  everything  as 
you  pass,  a  sort  of  living,  endless  panorama  —  shops 
and  splendid  buildings  and  great  windows  :  and  on  the 
broad  sidewalks  crowds  of  women  richly  dressed  con 
tinually  passing  altogether  different,  superior  in  style  and 
looks  from  any  to  be  seen  anywhere  else  —  in  fact  a  per 
fect  stream  of  people  —  men  too  dressed  in  high  style, 
and  plenty  of  foreigners  —  and  then  in  the  streets  the 
thick  crowd  of  carriages,  stages,  carts,  hotel  and  private 
coaches,  and  in  fact  all  sorts  of  vehicles  and  many  first 
class  teams,  mile  after  mile,  and  the  splendor  of  such  a 
great  street  and  so  many  tall,  ornamental,  noble  build 
ings  many  of  them  of  white  marble,  and  the  gayety  and 
motion  on  every  side :  you  will  not  wonder  how  much 
attraction  all  this  is  on  a  fine  day,  to  a  great  loafer  like 
me,  who  enjoys  so  much  seeing  the  busy  world  move 
by  him,  and  exhibiting  itself  for  his  amusement,  while  he 
takes  it  easy  and  just  looks  on  and  observes.  Then 
about  the  Broadway  drivers,  nearly  all  of  them  are  my 
personal  friends.  Some  have  been  attached  to  me  for 
years  and  I  to  them.  But  I  believe  I  have  already 
mentioned  them  in  a  former  letter.  Yesterday  I  rode 
the  trip  I  describe,  with  a  friend  on  a  5th  Avenue  stage 
—  No.  26,  a  sort  [of]  namesake  of  yours,  PeteCalhoun,  I 

42 


LETTERS  OF  1868 

have  known  him  9  or  10  years.  The  day  was  fine  and  I 
enjoyed  the  trip  muchly.  So  I  try  to  put  in  something 
in  my  letters  to  give  you  an  idea  of  how  I  pass  part  of 
my  time  and  what  I  see  here  in  New  York.  Of  course  I 
have  quite  a  variety.  Some  four  or  five  hours  every 
day  I  most  always  spend  in  study,  writing,  etc.  The 
other  serves  for  a  good  change.  I  am  writing  two  or 
three  pieces.  I  am  having  finished  about  225  copies  of 
Leaves  of  Grass  bound  up,  to  supply  orders.  Those 
copies  form  all  that  is  left  of  the  old  edition.  Then  there 
will  be  no  more  in  the  market  till  I  have  my  new  and 
improved  edition  set  up  and  stereotyped,  which  it  is  my 
present  plan  to  do  the  ensuing  winter  at  my  leisure  in 
Washington.  Mother  is  well,  I  take  either  dinner  or 
supper  with  her  every  day.  Remember  me  to  David 
Stevens  and  John  Towers.  Tell  Harry  on  No.  1 1  I  will 
go  to  the  hall  again  and  see  if  I  can  find  that  man  in 
the  Sheriff's  office.  I  send  you  my  love  and  so  long  for 
the  present.  Yours  for  life,  dear  Pete  (and  death  the 
same). 

VI 

New  York,  Oct.  14,  '68.  DEAR  BOY  PETE.  There  is 
great  excitement  here  over  the  returns  of  yesterday's 
elections,  as  I  suppose  there  is  the  same  in  Washington 
also.  The  Democrats  look  blue  enough  and  the  Repub 
licans  are  on  their  high  horses.  I  suppose  Grant's 
success  is  now  certain.  As  I  write  the  bands  are  out  here 

43 


CALAMUS 

parading  the  streets  and  the  drums  beating.  It  is  now 
forenoon.  To-night  we  will  hear  the  big  guns  and  see 
the  blazing  bonfires.  It  is  dark  and  cloudy  weather  here 
to-day.  I  was  glad  to  get  your  letter  of  Friday  9th  which 
is  the  last — also  a  Star  at  the  same  time.  I  suppose  you 
received  mine  of  the  9th  and  the  papers — the  Star  and 
Express.  I  am  about  as  well  as  usual.  Mother  is  well 
and  my  brothers  the  same.  I  am  going  to-morrow  to 
Providence,  R.  I.,  to  spend  a  few  days.  Should  you  write 
any  time  within  four  or  five  days  after  receiving  this 
direct  to  me  Care  of  Hon.  Thomas  Davis,  Providence,  R.L 
My  friend  O'Connor  is  quite  unwell  and  is  absent  from 
Washington  away  down  on  the  New  England  Coast.  I 
received  a  long  letter  from  him  yesterday.  I  believe  I 
told  you  I  was  finishing  up  about  230  copies  of  my  book, 
expecting  to  sell  them.  I  have  had  them  finished  up  and 
bound,  etc.,  but  there  is  a  hitch  about  the  sale  and  I 
shall  not  be  able  to  sell  them  at  present.  There  is  a 
pretty  strong  enmity  here  toward  me  and  Z.  of  G.  among 
certain  classes  —  not  only  that  it  is  a  great  mess  of  crazy 
talk  and  hard  words  all  tangled  up,  without  sense  or  mean 
ing  (which,  by  the  by,  is,  I  believe,  your  judgment  about  it) 
—  but  others  sincerely  think  that  it  is  a  bad  book,  im 
proper,  and  ought  to  be  denounced  and  put  down,  and  its 
author  along  with  it.  There  are  some  venomous  but 
laughable  squibs  occasionally  in  the  papers.  One  said 
that  I  had  received  25  guineas  for  a  piece  in  an  English 
Magazine,  but  that  it  was  worth  all  that  for  any  one  to 

44 


LETTERS  OF  1868 

read  it.  Another,  the  World  said  :  "  Walt  Whitman  was 
in  town  yesterday  carrying  the  blue  cotton  umbrella  of 
the  future  "  (it  had  been  a  drizzly  forenoon) — so  they 
go  it.  When  they  get  off  a  good  squib  however  I  laugh 
at  it  just  as  much  as  any  one.  Dear  Pete,  I  hope  this 
will  find  you  well  and  in  good  spirits.  Remember  me  to 
Coley,  John  Towers,  Jim  Sorrell,  David  Stevens  and  all 
the  boys — WALT. 

I  have  been  debating  whether  to  get  my  leave  extended 
and  stay  till  election  day  to  vote  or  whether  to  pair  off 
with  a  Democrat  and  return  (which  will  amount  to  the 
same  thing).  Most  likely  I  shall  decide  on  the  latter,  but 
don't  know  for  certain.  Dear  boy,  I  send  you  my  love — ' 
I  will  write  you  a  line  from  Providence  —  so  long  —  Pete. 

VII 

Providence,  £.  /.,  Oct.  17,  1868.  DEAR  PETE.  Ac 
cording  to  announcement  in  my  last  I  have  made  a  move 
ment  and  change  of  base  from  tumultuous,  close-packed, 
world-like  New  York  to  this  half-rural,  brisk,  handsome, 
New  England,  third-class  town.  I  came  on  here  last 
Thursday.  I  came  as  guest  of  Thomas  Davis,  formerly 
M.  C.  from  this  City  —  Arrived  between  8  and  9  o'clock 
at  night  —  found  his  carriage  at  the  depot  waiting  for  me. 
At  the  house  —  a  sort  of  castle  built  of  stone,  on  fine 
grounds,  a  mile  and  a  half  from  the  town  —  a  hearty  wel 
come  from  his  hospitable  wife  and  a  family  of  young 

45 


CALAMUS 

ladies  and  children  —  a  hot  supper  —  a  tip  top  room,  etc., 
etc., —  so  you  see,  Pete,  your  old  man  is  in  clover.  I  have 
since  been  round  the  City  and  suburbs  considerably.  I 
am  going  down  to  Newport  before  I  return  —  Invitations, 
etc.,  are  numerous  —  I  am,  in  fact,  already  dividing  my 
self  between  two  hospitalities,  part  of  the  time  with  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Davis  and  part  with  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Channing, 
old  acquaintances  of  mine  in  another  part  of  the  City. 
I  stopt  last  night  at  the  house  of  the  latter.  It  is  on  a 
high  and  pleasant  hill  at  the  side  of  the  City  which  it  entirely 
overlooks.  From  the  window  of  my  room  I  can  look 
down  across  the  city,  the  river,  and  off  miles  upon  miles 
in  the  distance.  The  woods  are  a  real  spectacle,  colored 
with  all  the  rich  colors  of  autumn.  Yesterday  it  was 
beautiful  and  balmy  beyond  description,  like  the  finest 
Indian  summer.  I  wandered  around,  partly  walking, 
partly  in  a  carriage,  a  good  part  of  the  day.  To-day  there 
is  an  entire  change  of  scene.  As  I  am  writing  this,  what 
do  you  think,  Pete?  great  flakes  of  snow  are  falling  — 
quite  a  thick  flurry  —  sometimes  the  wind  blows  in  gusts 
—  in  fact  a  real  snow  storm  has  been  going  on  all  the 
forenoon,  though  without  the  look  or  feeling  of  winter  as 
the  grass  and  foliage  are  autumnal  and  the  cold  is  not 
severe  yet.  Still  it  [is]  disagreeable  and  wet  and  dark 
and  prevents  me  from  going  out.  So  I  will  make  up  by 
writing  a  couple  of  letters,  one  to  mother  and  one  to  you, 
telling  you  about  things.  Providence  is  a  handsome  city 
of  about  70,000  inhabitants,  has  numerous  manufactories 

46 


LETTERS  OF  1868 

in  full  operation  —  everything  looks  lively.  From  the 
house  up  here  I  can  hear  almost  any  time,  night  or  day, 
the  sound  of  factory  bells  and  the  steam  whistles  of  loco 
motives  half  a  mile  distant.  Then  the  lights  at  night  seen 
from  here  make  a  curious  exhibition.  At  both  places  I 
stop  we  have  plenty  of  ripe  fresh  fruit  and  lots  of  flowers. 
Pete,  I  could  now  send  you  a  bouquet  every  morning  far 
better  than  I  used  to —  of  much  choicer  flowers.  And  how 
are  you  getting  along,  dearest  comrade  ?  I  hope  you  are 
well  and  that  everything  is  going  on  right  with  you.  I  have 
not  heard  from  you  for  a  good  while,  it  seems.  I  suppose 
you  got  my  last  letter  of  1 4th,  from  N.  Y.  I  expect  to 
return  to  N.  Y.  about  the  22nd.  Should  you  feel  to  write 
after  receiving  this  you  might  direct  to  331  East  55th 
Street  as  before.  I  am  well  as  usual.  I  am  luxuriating  on 
excellent  grapes.  I  wish  I  could  send  you  a  basket.  At 
both  places  I  stop  they  have  vineyards  and  the  grapes 
are  very  good  and  plenty  this  year.  Last  night  when  I 
went  up  at  1 1  o'clock  to  my  room  I  took  up  three  great 
bunches  each  as  big  as  my  fist  and  sat  down  and  eat  them 
before  I  turned  in.  I  like  to  eat  them  in  this  way  and  it 
agrees  with  me.  It  is  quite  a  change  here  from  my  asso 
ciations  and  surroundings  either  in  Washington  or  New 
York.  Evenings  and  meal  times  I  find  myself  thrown 
amidst  a  mild,  pleasant  society,  really  intellectual,  com 
posed  largely  of  educated  women,  some  young,  some  not 
so  young,  everything  refined  and  polite,  not  disposed  to 
small  talk,  conversing  in  earnest  on  profound  subjects, 

47 


CALAMUS 

but  with  a  moderate  rather  slow  tone  and  in  a  kind  of 
conciliatory  manner  —  delighting  in  this  sort  of  conversa 
tion  and  spending  their  evenings  till  late,  in  it.  I  take  a 
hand  in,  for  a  change.  I  find  it  entertaining,  as  I  say, 
for  novelty's  sake,  for  a  week  or  two  —  but  I  know  very 
well  that  would  be  enough  for  me.  It  is  all  first  rate, 
good  and  smart  but  too  constrained  and  bookish  for  a 
free  old  hawk  like  me.  I  send  you  my  love,  dear  Pete. 
So  long.  Will  write  from  N.  Y.  soon  as  I  return  there. 
P.  S.  Just  after  12  o'clock  noon.  As  I  am  just  finish 
ing  the  storm  lightens  up  —  I  am  sure  I  see  a  bit  of  blue 
sky  in  the  clouds  —  yes,  the  sun  is  certainly  breaking 
out. 

VIII 

Providence,  R.  /.,  Oct.  18,  '68.  DEAR  BOY  AND  COM 
RADE,  I  sent  off  a  letter  to  you  yesterday  noon,  but 
towards  evening  Mr.  Davis  brought  me  up  from  the  P. 
O.  yours  of  i5th,  which  I  was  so  glad  to  get  that  you 
shall  have  an  answer  right  off.  After  the  flurry  of  snow 
I  told  you  of  yesterday  morning  we  had  a  pleasant  clear 
afternoon.  I  took  a  long  walk,  partly  through  the  woods, 
and  enjoyed  it  much.  The  weather,  pretty  cold  and  sharp 
and  remains  so  yet.  As  I  left  my  overcoat  in  Washing 
ton  I  have  been  compelled  to  get  something  here,  so  I 
have  bought  me  a  great  iron  grey  shawl  which  I  find  very 
acceptable.  I  always  had  doubts  about  a  shawl,  but  have 
already  got  used  to  mine  and  like  it  first  rate.  In  the 

48 


LETTERS  OF  1868 

evening  I  went  by  invitation  to  a  party  of  ladies  and  gen 
tlemen  —  mostly  ladies.  We  had  a  warm,  animated  talk, 
among  other  things  about  spiritualism.  I  talked  too,  indeed 
went  in  like  a  house  afire.  It  was  good  exercise  —  for 
the  fun  of  the  thing.  I  also  made  love  to  the  women, 
and  flatter  myself  that  I  created  at  least  one  impression 
—  wretch  and  gay  deceiver  that  I  am.  The  truth  is  Peter, 
that  I  am  here  at  the  present  time  mainly  in  the  midst  of 
female  women,  some  of  them  young  and  jolly,  and  meet 
them  most  every  evening  in  company,  and  the  way  in 
which  this  aged  party  comes  up  to  the  scratch  and  cuts 
out  the  youthful  parties  and  fills  their  hearts  with  envy 
is  absolutely  a  caution.  You  would  be  astonished,  my 
son,  to  see  the  brass  and  coolness  and  the  capacity  of 
flirtation  and  carrying  on  with  the  girls  —  I  would  never 
have  believed  it  of  myself.  Brought  here  by  destiny, 
surrounded  in  this  way  and,  as  I  in  self  defense  would 
modestly  state,  sought  for,  seized  upon  and  ravenously 
devoured  by  these  creatures  —  and  so  nice  and  smart 
some  of  them  are,  and  handsome  too — there  is  nothing 
left  for  me,  is  there,  but  to  go  in.  Of  course,  young 
man,  you  understand  it  is  all  on  the  square.  My  going 
in  amounts  to  just  talking  and  joking  and  having  a  devil 
of  a  jolly  time  carrying  on  —  that's  all.  They  are  all  as 
good  girls  as  ever  lived.  I  have  already  had  three  or  four 
such  parties  here  —  which  you  will  certainly  admit,  con 
sidering  my  age  and  heft,  to  say  nothing  of  my  reputa 
tion,  is  doing  pretty  well.  Then  away  late  —  lost  my 

49 


CALAMUS 

way  —  wandered  over  the  City  and  got  home  after  one 
o'clock. 

I  go  about  quite  a  good  deal.  This  is  as  handsome  a 
City  as  I  ever  saw,  some  of  the  streets  run  up  steep  hills. 
Except  in  a  few  of  the  business  streets,  where  the  build 
ings  are  compact  —  in  nine-tenths  of  the  City  —  every 
house  stands  separate  and  has  a  little  or  quite  a  deal  of 
ground  about  it  for  flowers  and  for  shade  or  fruit  trees  or 
a  garden.  I  never  saw  such  a  prosperous  looking  City 
—but  of  course  no  grand  public  buildings  like  Wash 
ington. 

This  forenoon  I  have  been  out  away  down  along  the 
banks  of  the  river  and  cove  and  making  explorations 
generally.  All  is  new  to  me  and  I  returned  quite  tired. 
I  have  eat  a  hearty  dinner.  Then  I  thought  I  would 
come  up  and  sit  awhile  in  my  room.  But  as  I  did  not 
feel  like  reading  I  concluded  to  write  this  precious  screed. 
Fortunate  young  man,  to  keep  getting  such  instructive 
letters  —  aint  you  ?  It  is  now  four  o'clock  and  bright  and 
cool  and  I  have  staid  in  long  enough.  I  will  sally  forth 
on  a  walk  and  drop  this  in  the  P.  O.  before  supper.  So 
long,  dear  Pete,  and  my  love  to  you  as  always,  always. 
WALT. 

IX 

New  York— Oct.  22nd (?)  1868.  DEAR  PETE  — Well, 
here  I  am  back  again  in  New  York.  Have  had  a 
pleasant  trip  down  East  —  went  down  the  bay  there  after 

So 


LETTERS  OF  1868 

I  wrote  you  last  and  also  a  visit  around  among  the  fac 
tories  of  Rhode  Island.  Some  of  them  are  very  large  — 
regular  little  towns.  The  Spragues,  two  brothers,  employ 
7000  workmen  in  their  factories  alone.  Some  of  the 
owners  are  men  of  immense  wealth.  I  write  this  early  in 
the  forenoon  sitting  in  my  room  in  55th  street  after  break 
fast.  As  to  getting  my  leave  extended  so  that  I  might 
stay  to  vote,  I  have  settled  ( as  I  spoke  of  in  a  former 
letter )  to  pair  off  with  a  friend  of  mine  here  who  was 
going  to  vote  for  Seymour  and  return  on  time.  The 
weather  is  cool  and  clear  to-day.  I  shall  probably  not 
make  out  much  of  a  letter  to  you  this  time,  Pete,  as  I  feel 
rather  stupid  yet  this  morning.  I  guess  I  slept  too  hard 
or  perhaps,  as  they  say,  I  got  up  wrong  end  foremost. 
But  I  thought  I  would  write  one  more  letter  for  the  last. 
I  hope  you  have  enjoyed  reading  them  as  much  as  I  have 
writing  them  —  for  that  I  have  enjoyed.  You  too  have 
done  first  rate  and  have  sent  me  as  many  as  I  have  you, 
and  good  letters  too.  I  am  now  going  out  down  town  and 
across  to  Brooklyn  to  spend  a  few  hours  with  my  mother. 
I  don't  know  whether  I  told  you  that  my  sister  with  her 
two  young  children  from  St.  Louis  arrived  the  night  before 
I  left  New  York,  and  will  stop  with  mother  this  fall  and 
winter  —  her  health  *  is  not  very  good.  I  shall  return 
26th  —  Take  care  of  yourself,  Dear  Pete,  we  will  soon  be 
together  again  —  WALT. 

*».  e.  the  health  of  the   "sister"  (Jeff's  wife  Mattie)  — she  died 
of  consumption  iQth  Feb.  1873. 

51 


I  WILL  plant  companionship  thick  as  trees  along  all  the  rivers  of 
America,  and  along  the  shores  of  the  great  lakes,  and  all 
over  the  prairies, 

I  will  make  inseparable  cities  with  their  arms  about  each  other's 
necks, 

By  the  love  of  comrades, 

By  the  manly  love  of  comrades. 

Leaves  of  Grass  (Ed'n  1892),  p.  99. 


LETTERS  OF  1869 


BROOKLYN,  N.  Y.,  Saturday  evening,  Aug. 
21  [1869].  DEAR  PETE.  I  have  been  very 
sick  the  last  three  days — I  don't  know  what 
to  call  it — it  makes  me  prostrated  and  deadly 
weak,  and  little  use  of  my  limbs.  I  have  thought  of 
you,  my  darling  boy,  very  much  of  the  time.  I  have  not 
been  out  of  the  house  since  the  first  day  after  my  arrival. 
I  had  a  pleasant  journey  through  on  the  cars  Wednesday 
afternoon  and  night — felt  quite  well  then.  My  mother 
and  folks  are  all  well.  We  are  in  our  new  house  — 
we  occupy  part  and  rent  out  part.  I  have  a  nice  room, 
where  I  now  sit  writing  this.  It  is  the  latter  part  of 
the  afternoon.  I  feel  better  the  last  hour  or  so.  It 
has  been  extremely  hot  here  the  last  two  days  —  I  see 
it  has  been  so  in  Washington  too.  I  hope  I  shall  get  out 
soon — I  hanker  to  get  out  doors,  and  down  the  bay. 
And  now  dear  Pete  for  yourself.  How  is  it  with  you, 
dearest  boy  —  and  is  there  anything  different  with  the 
face  ?  *  Dear  Pete,  you  must  forgive  me  for  being  so 

*  At  this  time  Doyle  was  suffering  from  an  eruption  on  his  face 
of  which  he  did  not  know  the  cause.  Whitman  took  him  to  Dr. 
Charles  Bowen,  one  of  the  army  doctors,  who  pronounced  it  a  case 
of  "barber's  itch"  (tinea  sycosis),  an  exceedingly  obstinate  skin 

53 


CALAMUS 

cold  the  last  day  and  evening.  I  was  unspeakably 
shocked  and  repelled  from  you  by  that  talk  and  proposi 
tion  of  yours  —  you  know  what  —  there  by  the  fountain. 
It  seemed  indeed  to  me,  (for  I  will  talk  out  plain  to  you, 
dearest  comrade)  that  the  one  I  loved,  and  who  had 
always  been  so  manly  and  sensible,  was  gone,  and  a  fool 
and  intentional  suicide  stood  in  his  place.  I  spoke  so 
sternly  and  cutting.  (Though  I  see  now  that  my  words 
might  have  appeared  to  have  a  certain  other  meaning, 
which  I  didn't  dream  of  —  insulting  to  you,  never  for  one 
moment  in  my  thoughts.)  But  will  say  no  more  of  this 
—  for  I  know  such  thoughts  must  have  come  when  you 
was  not  yourself  but  in  a  moment  of  derangement, —  and 
have  passed  away  like  a  bad  dream.  Dearest  boy  I  have 
not  a  doubt  but  you  will  get  well  and  entirely  well — and 
we  will  one  day  look  back  on  these  drawbacks  and  suffer 
ings  as  things  long  past.  The  extreme  cases  of  that 
malady,  (as  I  told  you  before)  are  persons  that  have  very 
deeply  diseased  blood  so  they  have  no  foundation  to  build 
on  —  you  are  of  healthy  stock,  with  a  sound  constitution 

disease,  which  he  said  could  best  be  eradicated  by  lancing  and  cau 
terizing  with  nitrate  of  silver.  At  Doyle's  solicitation  Dr.  Bowen 
undertook  the  treatment  at  once,  but  for  a  time  no  improvement 
was  apparent.  In  a  moment  of  despondency  Doyle  declared  that 
life  burdened  with  such  an  affliction  was  not  worth  living.  Whit 
man  took  this  thoughtless  speech  too  literally  as  appears  from  the 
letter,  and  it  is  in  perfect  keeping  with  his  imperturbable  faith  and 
complete  acceptance  of  life  that  he  should  have  been  shocked,  as  he 
was,  by  even  a  suggestion  of  suicide. 

54 


LETTERS  OF  1869 

and  good  blood  —  and  I  know  it  is  impossible  for  it  to 
continue  long.  My  darling,  if  you  are  not  well  when  I 
come  back  I  will  get  a  good  room  or  two  in  some  quiet 
place,  and  we  will  live  together  and  devote  ourselves  alto 
gether  to  the  job  of  curing  you,  and  making  you  stronger 
and  healthier  than  ever.  I  have  had  this  in  my  mind 
before  but  never  broached  it  to  you.  I  could  go  on  with 
my  work  in  the  Attorney  General's  office  just  the  same  — 
and  we  would  see  that  your  mother  should  have  a  small 
sum  every  week  to  keep  the  pot  a-boiling  at  home.  Dear 
comrade,  I  think  of  you  very  often.  My  love  for  you  is 
indestructible,  and  since  that  night  and  morning  has 
returned  more  than  before.  Dear  Pete,  dear  son,  my 
darling  boy,  my  young  and  loving  brother,  don't  let  the 
devil  put  such  thoughts  in  your  mind  again  —  wickedness 
unspeakable  —  death  and  disgrace  here,  and  hell's  agonies 
hereafter  —  Then  what  would  it  be  afterward  to  the 
mother?  What  to  met  —  Pete,  I  send  you  some  money 
by  Adams'  Express  —  you  use  it,  dearest  son,  and  when  it 
is  gone  you  shall  have  some  more,  for  I  have  plenty.  I 
will  write  again  before  long  —  give  my  love  to  Johnny 
Lee,  my  dear  darling  boy.  I  love  him  truly  —  (let  him 
read  these  three  last  lines) — Dear  Pete,  remember — 
WALT. 

II 

Brooklyn,  September  3,  1869.     DEAR  PETE.     I  thought 
I  would  write  you  a  letter  to-day,  as  you  would  be  anxious 

55 


CALAMUS 

to  hear.  I  received  your  letter  of  Aug.  24,  and  it  was  a 
great  comfort  to  me.  I  have  read  it  several  times  since. 
Dear  Pete,  I  hope  everything  is  going  on  favorably  with 
you.  I  think  about  you  every  day  and  every  night.  I  do 
hope  you  are  in  good  spirits  and  health.  I  want  to  hear 
about  the  face.  I  suppose  you  are  working  on  the  road. 
There  is  nothing  new  or  special  in  my  affairs  or  doings. 
The  weather  is  pleasant  here  —  it  is  pretty  cool  and  dry. 
My  folks  all  continue  well  —  mother  first  rate,  and 
brothers  ditto.  I  do  not  have  such  good  luck,  I  have 
felt  unwell  most  every  day —  some  days  not  so  bad.  Be 
sides  I  have  those  spells  again,  worse,  last  longer,  sick 
enough,  come  sudden,  dizzy  and  sudden  sweat —  It  is 
hard  to  tell  exactly  what  is  the  matter  or  what  to  do. 
The  doctor  says  it  is  all  from  that  hospital  malaria, 
hospital  poison  absorbed  in  the  system  years  ago  —  he 
thinks  it  better  for  me  in  Washington  than  here.  About 
one  third  of  the  time  I  feel  pretty  well.  I  have  taken 
three  or  four  of  my  favorite  rides  on  Broad\vay,  I  believe 
I  described  them  to  you  in  my  letters  a  year  ago.  I  find 
many  of  my  old  friends,  and  new  ones  too,  and  am 
received  with  the  same  warm  friendship  and  love  as  ever. 
Broadway  is  more  crowded  and  gay  than  ever,  and  the 
women  look  finer,  and  the  shops  richer  —  then  there  are 
many  new  and  splendid  buildings  of  marble  or  iron  —  they 
seem  to  almost  reach  the  clouds,  they  are  so  tall  —  some  of 
them  cost  millions  of  dollars.  Staging  in  N.  Y.  has  been 
very  poor  this  summer  —  $9  or  $10  even  on  the  big 

56 


LETTERS  OF  1869 

Broadway  lines  —  Railroading  has  also -been  slim.  New 
York  is  all  cut  up  with  railroads  —  Brooklyn  also  —  I 
have  seen  Jimmy  Foy  —  he  was  over  to  Brooklyn  looking 
for  work  on  a  road.  He  was  well  and  hearty,  and  wished 
to  be  remembered  to  you.  They  pay  $2^4  on  many  of 
the  roads  here  and  2^  on  the  rest.  The  work  is  pretty 
hard,  but  the  hours  not  so  long  as  in  Washington.  There 
is  all  kinds  of  fun  and  sport  here,  by  day  and  night  — 
and  lots  of  theatres  and  amusements  in  full  blast.  I  have 
not  been  to  any  of  them  —  have  not  been  to  see  any  of 
my  particular  women  friends  —  though  sent  for  ( the 
papers  here  have  noticed  my  arrival )  —  have  not  been 
down  to  the  sea-shore  as  I  intended. —  In  fact  my  jaunt 
this  time  has  been  a  failure  —  Better  luck  next  time  — 
Now  Pete,  dear  loving  boy,  I  don't  want  you  to  worry 
about  me  —  I  shall  come  along  all  right.  —  As  it  is,  I 
have  a  good  square  appetite  most  of  the  time  yet,  good 
nights'  sleep  —  and  look  about  the  same  as  usual,  (  which 
is  of  course  lovely  and  fascinating  beyond  description  ). 
Tell  Johnny  Lee  I  send  him  my  love,  and  hope  he  is  well 
and  hearty.  I  think  of  him  daily.  I  sent  him  a  letter 
some  time  ago,  which  I  suppose  he  received  about  Aug. 
26,  and  showed  you  —  but  I  have  not  had  a  word  from 
him.  Send  him  this  letter  to  read,  as  he  will  wish  to  hear 
about  me.  God  bless  you,  dear  Pete  —  dear  loving  com 
rade,  and  farewell  till  next  time,  my  darling  boy.  WALT. 


57 


CALAMUS 

III 

Brooklyn,  Friday  afternoon,  Sept.  10,  1869.  DEAR 
PETE  —  DEAR  SON.  I  have  received  your  letter  of  the  8th 
to-day  —  all  your  letters  have  come  safe — four  alto 
gether.  This  is  the  third  I  have  sent  you  (besides  that 
one  by  Adams'  Express,  Aug.  23rd).  Pete,  you  say  my 
sickness  must  be  worse  than  I  described  in  my  letters  — 
and  ask  me  to  write  precisely  how  I  am.  No,  dearest 
boy,  I  wrote  just  as  it  really  was.  But  Pete,  you  will  now 
be  truly  happy  to  learn  that  I  am  feeling  all  right,  and 
have  been  mainly  so  for  the  last  four  days, —  and  have 
had  no  bad  spells  all  that  time.  Yesterday  I  thought  I 
felt  as  strong  and  well  as  ever  in  my  life  —  in  fact  real 
young  and  jolly.  I  loafed  around  New  York  most  all 
day  —  had  a  first  rate  good  time.  All  along  Broadway 
hundreds  of  rich  flags  and  streamers  at  half-mast  for 
Gen.  Rawlins'  *  funeral.  From  the  tall  buildings  they 
waved  out  in  a  stiff  west  wind  all  across  Broadway  —  late 
in  the  afternoon  I  rode  up  from  the  Battery  to  look  at 
them, —  as  the  sun  struck  through  them — I  thought  I 
had  never  seen  anything  so  curious  and  beautiful.  On 
all  the  shipping,  ferry  boats,  public  buildings,  etc.,  flags 

*John  Aaron  Rawlins,  b.  at  East  Galena,  111.,  13  Feb.  '31,  d.  at 
Washington,  D.  C.,  9  Dec.,  '69.  A  General  in  the  Northern  army. 
Was  a  Douglas  democrat  in  '60,  but  joined  the  Union  Army  on  the 
outbreak  of  the  Civil  War  and  became  Assistant  Adjutant  General 
to  Grant  in  1861  and  Chief  of  Staff  with  the  rank  of  Brigadier  General 
in  1865.  Was  Secretary  of  War  1869. 

58 


LETTERS  OF  1869 

at  half-mast  too.  This  is  the  style  here.  No  black 
drapery  for  mourning  —  only  thousand  of  flags  at  half 
mast,  on  the  water  as  well  as  land  —  for  any  big  bug's 
funeral.  To-day  I  am  all  right  too.  It  is  now  towards 
3 — mother  and  I  have  just  had  our  dinner,  (my 
mammy's  own  cooking  mostly,)  I  have  been  out  all  the 
forenoon  knocking  around  —  the  water  is  my  favorite 
recreation  —  I  could  spend  two  or  three  hours  every  day 
of  my  life  here,  and  never  get  tired  —  some  of  the  pilots 
are  dear  personal  friends  of  mine  —  some,  when  we  meet 
we  kiss  each  other  (I  am  an  exception  to  all  their  cus 
toms  with  others,)  —  some  of  their  boys  have  grown  up 
since  I  have  known  them,  and  they  too  know  me  and 
are  very  friendly. —  Pete,  the  fourth  week  of  my  vacation 
is  most  ended.  I  shall  return  the  middle  of  next  week. 
Give  my  love  to  Johnny  Lee  —  let  him  read  this  letter 
and  then  return  it  to  you.  Dear  Jack,  I  received  your 
affectionate  letter  of  Sept.  5th.  Pete,  I  have  seen  Tom 
Haslett  — he  is  well  —  he  is  working  extra  on  Broadway 
and  42nd  St.  R.  R.  He  does  not  think  of  going  home 
till  Christmas.  Jimmy  Foy  has  not  got  work  yet.  I 
suppose  you  got  "  Kenilworth  "  I  sent.  Well,  boy,  I  shall 
now  take  a  bath,  dress  myself  and  go  out,  cross  the  river, 
put  this  letter  in  the  P.  O.  and  then  ramble  and  ride  around 
the  City  awhile,  as  I  think  we  are  going  to  have  a  fine 
evening  and  moonlight,  etc.  Good-bye,  dear  son  —  we 
will  soon  be  together  again.  WALT. 


59 


WHAT  think  you  I  take  my  pen  in  hand  to  record  ? 

The  battleship,  perfect  model'd,  majestic,  that  I  saw  pass  the 

offing  today  under  full  sail  ? 
The  splendors  of  the  past  day  ?  or  the  splendor  of  the  night  that 

envelops  me  ? 
Or  the  vaunted  glory  and  growth  of  the  great  city  spread  around 

me  ?  —  no ; 
But  merely  of  two  simple  men  I  saw  today  on  the  pier  in  the 

midst  of  the  crowd,  parting  the  parting  of  dear  friends, 
The  one  to  remain  hung  on  the  other's  neck  and  passionately 

kissed  him, 
While  the  one  to  depart  tightly  prest  the  one  to  remain  in  his 

arms. 

Leaves  of  Grass  (Ed'n  1892),  p.  no. 


60 


LETTERS  OF  1870 


BROOKLYN,  Saturday  afternoon,  July  30 
[1870].  DEAR  PETE.  Well  here  I  am  home 
again  with  my  mother,  writing  to  you  from 
Brooklyn  once  more.  We  parted  there,  you 
know,  at  the  corner  of  ;th  St.  Tuesday  night.  Pete  there 
was  something  in  that  hour  from  10  to  n  o'clock 
(parting  though  it  was)  that  has  left  me  pleasure  and 
comfort  for  good  —  I  never  dreamed  that  you  made  so 
much  of  having  me  with  you,  nor  that  you  could  feel 
so  downcast  at  losing  me.  I  foolishly  thought  it  was  all 
on  the  other  side.  But  all  I  will  say  further  on  the  sub 
ject  is,  I  now  see  clearly,  that  was  all  wrong.  I  started 
from  the  depot  in  the  7.25  train  the  next  morning — it 
was  pretty  warm,  yet  I  had  a  very  pleasant;  journey,  and 
we  got  in  New  York  by  5  o'clock  afternoon.  About 
half  an  hour  before  we  arrived,  I  noticed  a  very  agree 
able  change  in  the  weather  —  the  heat  had  moderated  — 
and  in  fact  it  has  been  pleasant  enough  every  day  since. 
I  found  mother  and  all  as  well  as  usual.  It  is  now  Sat 
urday  between  4  and  5  in  the  afternoon  —  I  will  write 
more  on  the  other  side  —  but  Pete,  I  must  now  hang  up 
for  the  present  as  there  is  a  young  lady  down  stairs  whom 
I  have  to  go  with  to  the  ferry  and  across  to  the  cars. 

61 


CALAMUS 

Sunday,  6  /.  m4  Pete,  dear  boy,  I  will  write  you  a  line 
to-day  before  I  go.  I  am  going  over  to  New  York  to 
visit  the  lady  I  went  down  to  the  ferry  with  —  so  you  see 
I  am  quite  a  lady's  man  again  in  my  old  days  —  There  is 
nothing  special  to  write  about  —  I  am  feeling  in  first-rate 
spirits  and  eat  my  rations  every  time.  Monday,  Aug.  i. 
The  carrier  brought  quite  a  bunch  this  forenoon  for  the 
Whitman  family,  but  no  letter  from  you.  I  keep  real 
busy  with  one  thing  and  another,  the  whole  day  is 
occupied  —  I  am  feeling  quite  well  all  the  time  and  go 
out  a  great  deal,  knocking  around  one  place  and  another. 
The  evenings  here  are  delightful  and  I  am  always  out  in 
them,  sometimes  on  the  river  sometimes  in  New  York  — 
There  is  a  cool  breeze  and  the  moon  shining.  I  think 
every  time  of  you  and  wish  if  we  could  only  be  together 
these  evenings  at  any  rate.  Tuesday,  Aug.  2.  Well 
Pete,  you  will  have  quite  a  diary  at  this  rate.  Your  letter 
came  this  morning  —  and  I  was  glad  enough  to  get  word 
from  you.  I  have  been  over  to  New  York  to-day  on 
business  —  it  is  a  pleasure  even  to  cross  the  ferry  —  the 
river  is  splendid  to-day  —  a  stiff  breeze  blowing  and  the 
smell  of  the  salt  sea  blowing  up  —  (sweeter  than  any  per 
fume  to  my  nose) —  It  is  now  2  o'clock,  I  have  had  my 
dinner  and  am  sitting  here  alone  writing  this — Love  to 
you,  dear  Pete  —  and  I  won't  be  so  long  again  writing  to 
my  darling  boy.  WALT. 


62 


LETTERS  OF  1870 

II 

Brooklyn,  Wednesday  night,  Aug.  3,  [  1870] .  DEAR 
PETE.  Dear  son,  I  received  your  second  letter  to-day  — 
also  the  Star.  I  sent  you  a  letter  Tuesday  evening,  which 
I  suppose  you  have  received.  As  I  am  now  sitting  in  my 
room  and  have  no  desire  to  go  to  bed  yet,  I  will  commence 
another.  Give  my  best  respects  to  George  Smith  —  also 
to  Pensey  Bell  and  his  brother  George  —  also  to  Mr. 
Shedd  —  and  in  fact  to  all  my  railroad  friends  whenever 
they  enquire  after  me  —  Dear  son,  I  can  almost  see  you 
drowsing  and  nodding  since  last  Sunday,  going  home  late 
—  especially  as  we  wait  there  at  7th  St.  and  I  am  telling 
you  something  deep  about  the  heavenly  bodies — and  in 
the  midst  of  it  I  look  around  and  find  you  fast  asleep,  and 
your  head  on  my  shoulder  like  a  chunk  of  wood  —  an 
awful  compliment  to  my  lecturing  powers.  All  the  talk 
here  now  is  either  the  war  on  the  Rhine,  or  the  murder 
of  old  Mr.  Nathan,  or  some  other  murder  —  for  there  are 
plenty  of  them  —  I  send  you  a  couple  of  papers  with 
pieces  about  them.  Say  whether  they  come  safe.  I 
believe  that  is  all  for  to-night,  as  it  is  getting  late.  Good 
night,  Pete  —  Good  night,  my  darling  son  —  here  is  a  kiss 
for  you,  dear  boy  —  on  the  paper  here  —  a  good  long 
one.  Thursday  —  \th  —  I  have  been  out  all  the  forenoon 
and  until  about  2  o'clock  —  had  some  business  in  New 
York,  which  I  attended,  then  came  back  and  spent  an 
hour  and  a  half  on  the  river,  with  one  of  the  pilots,  a 

63 


CALAMUS 

particular  friend  of  mine  —  saw  the  yachts,  several  of 
them,  including  the  America,  out  practising  for  the  great 
race  that  comes  off  Monday  —  the  Dauntless  was  out 
yesterday  —  and  the  Cambria  went  down  three  days  ago 

—  the  America  is  the  handsomest  little  craft  I  ever  laid 
eyes  on  —  I  also  saw  Henry  Ward  Beecher  and  had  some 
talk  with  him  —  I  find  myself  going  with  the  pilots  muchly 

—  there  are  several  that  were  little  boys,  now  grown  up, 
and  remember    me  well  —  fine  hearty   fellows — always 
around  the  water  —  sons  of  old  pilots — they  make  much 
of  me,  and  of  course  I  am  willing.     10  o'clock  at  night 

—  As  this  is  lying  here  on  my  table  to  be  sent  off  to-mor 
row,  I  will  imagine  you  with  your  arm  around  my  neck 
saying  Good  night,  Walt  —  and  me  —  Good  night,  Pete. — 
Friday  morning,  Aug.  5. —  All  well  —  fine  weather  and  I 
feel  in  good  spirits.     I  am  just  going  out  and  across  to 
to  New  York.     We  had  a  heavy  shower  here  yesterday 
afternoon  4th,  the  weather  is  not  too  hot  here.     WALT. 


Ill 

Brooklyn,  August  7,  [  1870].  DEAR  BOY  PETE.  It  is  a 
beautiful  quiet  Sunday  forenoon.  I  am  feeling  first  rate 
and  have  had  quite  a  good  day  so  far.  After  breakfast  I 
went  out  and  sat  a  long  while  on  the  porch  in  front,  reading 
the  Sunday  paper,  enjoying  the  cool  and  shade, —  and 
besides  some  real  sweet  music — A  young  widow  next 
door,  a  friend  of  mother's,  has  been  in  her  parlor  the  last 

64 


LETTERS  OF  1870 

three  hours,  singing  and  practising  —  she  has  a  voice  not 
powerful  and  ornamental  as  the  opera  ladies,  but  with 
that  something,  pleasing  and  tender,  that  goes  to  the 
right  spot  —  sings  good  old  hymns  and  songs  —  I  have 
enjoyed  it  greatly  —  you  would  too  —  It  is  now  between 
1-2  past  10  and  1 1  —  The  distant  bells  are  slowly  ringing 

—  otherwise  it  is  pretty  quiet  —  The  last   two   hours   I 
have  been  up  here  reading  my  proof.     I  have  four  or  five 
hours  of  this  every  day,  which  gives  me  something  to  do 

—  an  employment  like.     Pete,  I  have  just  taken  out  your 
last  letter  and  read  it  over  again  —  I  went  out  on  a  kind 
of  little  excursion  by  myself  last  night  —  all  alone — It 
was  very  pleasant,  cool  enough  and  the  moon  shining  — 
I  think  of  you  too,  Pete,  and  a  great  deal  of  the  time. 
Tuesday  afternoon,  Q//Z,  I  was  out  yesterday  a  great  part 
of  the  day  on  the  river  to  see  the  yacht  race  —  over  a 
thousand  spectator  boats,  big,  little,  and  middle  sized  — 
many  of  them  all  drest  with  flags,  bright  colored  streamers, 
etc.  streaming  over  the  green  waters,  beneath   the  sun 
shine  and   bright  blue   sky  —  a  grand  sight  —  and   the 
beautiful  yachts  and  pleasure  boats,  lots  and  lots  of  them, 
with  immense  white  sails,  like  great  wings,  tearing  along 
in  the  breeze  —  the  bay  each  side  alive  with  people  on 
the   boats  —  150,000  people  they  say  —  the  shores  and 
hills  covered  for  miles  too  —  I  was  out  again  last  night. 
It  was  fine. — Your  welcome  letter  of  the  8th  has  come 
this  morning,  dear  loving  son,  and  has  pleased  me,  as 
always.     That  accident  on  the  bridge  was  indeed  terrible 

65 


CALAMUS 

—  that  bridge  is  a  disgrace  to  Washington,    anyhow  — 
Pete,  I  wish  you  to  tell  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Nash  and  your 
cousin,  and  all,  I    send  them  my  best   respects  —  Also 
Henry  Hurt,  also  Andy  Woolbridge  on  ;th  St.      Wednes 
day   afternoon,    \Qth.     Dear   son.     Yours    of   gth,    came 
this  forenoon  —  I  feel  quite  unhappy  about  your  bad  luck 
again  —  reported  by  some  damned  fool,  and  taken  off  by 
a  worse  damned  fool — But  you  keep  a  good  heart,  Pete 

—  school  will  keep  somehow  —  I  have  no  room  to  write 
more  at  present — Dear  loving  son,  I  want  to  keep  writ 
ing  frequently.     WALT.     Just  going  out —  But  just  in  the 
nick  of  time  before  I  sealed  this  letter  as  I  had  finished 
dressing  to  go  out,  Mother  sung  out  to  me  from  the  foot 
of  the  stairs  —  and  I  got  your  good  welcome  third  letter. 
Pete,  you  are  doing  first   rate.     I   guess    Pleasants  was 
after  something  stronger  than  Kissengen  —  Tell  Dr.  Mil- 
burn  I  don't  find  any  place  in  N.  Y.  or  Brooklyn  to  com 
pare  with  his  for  the  mineral  drinks  —  But  I  am  living 
more  to  suit  me  in  the  grub  line,  this  weather  —  not  so 
much  meat  —  mother's  cookery,  and  quite  a  good  deal  of 
fruit,  etc.  —  A  lovely  broiled  steak  and  perfect  coffee  this 
morning  —  I  wish  you  had  been  on  hand,  young  man. 


IV 

Brooklyn,  August  12,  [1870].  DEAR  SON.  Yours  of 
yesterday  nth,  has  just  this  minute  come,  and  I  wish  to 
write  a  few  lines  so  that  you  may  get  them  before  Sun- 

66 


LETTERS  OF  1870 

day.  I  have  not  time  to  write  much,  as  it  is  now  about 
5  p.  M.  Dear  son,  I  hope  you  will  not  feel  discouraged 
at  the  situation,  even  if  it  comes  to  the  worst.  It  is  now 
thought  that  business  generally  throughout  the  country  is 
ready  to  revive  as  soon  as  the  hot  season  is  done,  and 
that  everything  will  be  brisker  this  fall  than  any  time 
since  the  war.  Dear  Pete,  whatever  happens,  in  such 
ups  and  downs,  you  must  try  to  meet  it  with  a  stout 
heart.  As  long  as  the  Almighty  vouchsafes  you  health, 
strength,  and  a  clear  conscience,  let  other  things  do  their 
worst, —  and  let  Riker  go  to  hell.  You  are  better  off 
to-day  to  be  what  you  are,  than  to  be  him  with  his 
$  1 0,000  a  year  —  poor  thin-livered  cuss  that  he  is. —  My 
darling  son,  I  will  send  you  $5  every  Saturday,  should 
you  be  idle  —  as  I  can  easily  spare  that,  and  you  can 
depend  upon  it  —  it  won't  go  far,  but  it  may  take  the  edge 
off.  Many,  many  loving  kisses  to  you,  dear  son  —  for  I 
must  close,  or  I  shall  lose  to-night's  mail.  WALT. 


Brooklyn,  August  22,  1870.  DEAR  PETE.  I  have 
not  heard  from  you  now  for  nine  days.  Your  letter  of 
1 3th,  (last  Saturday  week)  in  which  you  said  the  orders 
were  for  you  to  go  to  work  next  day,  was  the  last  I  have 
received.  I  took  it  for  granted  that  you  went  to  work, 
and  have  been  at  it  since  —  and  I  hope  all  is  right  with 
you  —  but  why  have  you  not  written  ?  —  Dear  son,  if  not 

67 


CALAMUS 

to  work  I  wish  to  send  you  a  little  money.  Everything 
goes  well  with  me  —  that  is,  everything  goes  as  well  as 
can  be  expected  —  I  am  feeling  first-rate  —  I  am  down 
the  bay  often,  and  sometimes  spend  nearly  all  day  on 
the  sea-shore  a  few  miles  down.  I  am  all  sunburnt  and 
red,  and  weigh  several  pounds  more  than  when  I  left 
Washington.  A  friend  who  hasn't  seen  me  for  a  good 
while  said  this  morning —  "Why  Walt,  you  are  fatter  and 
saucier  than  ever"  —  but  I  will  close  by  sending  my  love 
to  my  darling  son  —  and  to  him  I  shall  always  be  the 
same  old  WALT. 

VI 

Brooklyn,  August  25  [1870].  DEAR  SON.  I  will  begin 
a  letter  for  you  to-day,  and  probably  finish  it  to-morrow, 
and  send  it  off,  so  that  you  will  have  it  by  or  before  Sun 
day.  The  heat  is  again  upon  us  here,  days  —  but  the 
nights  are  pleasant.  It  is  now  Thursday  afternoon,  be 
tween  3  and  4  —  and  I  am  writing  this  in  my  room  on 
Portland  Ave.  Pete,  one  month  of  my  leave  exactly  is 
up  to-day.  I  have  been  out  quite  a  while  to-day  over  to 
New  York,  to  the  printing  office,  and  seeing  to  one  thing 
and  another.  It  was  sweaty  work.  On  my  way  back  I 
went  up  in  the  pilot  house  and  sailed  across  the  river 
three  times — a  fine  breeze  blowing.  Then  home  —  took 
a  bath  —  ate  my  dinner — and  here  I  am  all  alone  most 
stript,  taking  things  as  cool  as  possible,  and  writing  this 
letter.  Pete,  your  letter  of  23rd  came  yesterday,  and  the 

68 


LETTERS  OF  1870 

one  written  partly  that  night  and  partly  24th  came  this 
forenoon.  Those  are  the  only  letters  I  have  received 
since  the  one  of  i3th  telling  me  the  orders  were  for  you 
to  go  to  work  next  day  (Sunday).  I  have  been  uneasy 
ever  since  to  hear.  The  letter  received  this  morning 
gives  me  the  first  definite  information  how  things  have 
turned  out.  Dear  son,  I  want  you  to  try  to  cast  aside  all 
irritating  thoughts  and  recollections,  and  preserve  a 
cheerful  mind.  That  is  the  main  part  of  getting  along 
through  the  toil  and  battle  of  life  —  and  it  is  a  good  deal 
habit.  I  was  away  a  good  part  of  last  week  down  the 
bay  —  went  away  each  time  early  in  the  morning,  and 
got  home  after  dark.  I  am  having  quite  jovial  times.  I 
went  to  Wallack's  theatre  one  night  lately  with  a  friend 
who  wanted  to  see  a  piece  called  "  Fritz  "  —  a  miserable 
sickish  piece.  I  was  glad  enough  to  get  out  in  the  open 
air  away  from  such  humbug.  I  am  still  feeling  gay  and 
hearty.  I  work  several  hours  a  day  keeping  things 
straight  among  the  printers  and  founders  on  my  books. 
They  are  being  cast  in  electrotype  plates.*  I  will  tell  you 
more  about  it  when  we  meet.  Well  Pete,  I  guess  this  will 
do  for  to-day.  I  think  of  sallying  forth  soon  as  the  sun 
gets  pretty  well  down,  and  crossing  to  New  York  to  loafe 
around  two  or  three  hours.  Friday  afternoon,  August  26. 
Well  I  went  over  to  New  York  last  evening  —  up  town 
to  see  some  friends  —  come  home  about  1 1  —  just  in 

*  These  plates  were  used  for  the  187 1-';  2  and  '76  eds.  of  Leaves 
of  Grass. 

69 


CALAMUS 

time  to  escape  a  thunder  shower.  It  is  splendid  to-day  — 
I  have  been  over  all  day  working,  quite  busy  —  and  have 
just  got  home,  and  had  my  dinner  —  it  is  now  about  4. 
It  is  quite  pleasant  riding  here  in  Brooklyn  —  we  have 
large  open  cars,  in  good  weather  it  is  real  lively  —  I  quite 
enjoy  it  —  Pete,  give  my  respects  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Nash, 
and  to  your  cousin  —  also  to  Jenny  Murphy  —  not  forget 
ting  the  boys  on  the  road  —  also  Wash  Milburn  —  God 
bless  you — and  good-bye  for  this  time,  my  own  dear  lov 
ing  boy.  WALT. 

VII 

Brooklyn,  September  2,  1870.  DEAR  PETE.  I  received 
your  welcome  letter  of  Aug.  2yth  and  also  3ist,  enclos 
ing  Ned  Stewart's  —  when  you  write  tell  Ned  I  am  here 
in  Brooklyn,  loafing  around  —  and  that  I  send  my  love. 
Pete,  there  is  nothing  particular  to  write  about  this  time 
—  pretty  much  the  same  story  —  every  day  out  on  the 
bay  awhile,  or  going  down  to  Coney  Island  beach  —  and 
every  day  from  two  to  four  or  five  hours  in  the  printing 
office  —  I  still  keep  well  and  hearty,  and  the  weather  is 
fine  —  warm  through  the  middle  of  the  day,  and  cool 
morning  and  nights  —  I  fall  in  with  a  good  many  of  my 
acquaintances  of  years  ago  —  the  young  fellows,  (now 
not  so  young)  — that  I  knew  intimately  here  before  the 
war  —  some  are  dead  —  and  some  have  got  married  — 
and  some  have  grown  rich  —  one  of  the  latter  I  was  up 
with  yesterday  and  last  night  —  he  has  a  big  house  on 

70 


LETTERS  OF  1870 

Fifth  Avenue  I  was  there  to  —  dinner  (dinner  at  8 
p.  M.  !) — everything  in  the  loudest  sort  of  style,  with 
wines,  silver,  nigger  waiters,  etc.  etc.  etc.  But  my  friend 
is  just  one  of  the  manliest,  jovialest,  best  sort  of  fellows  — 
no  airs,  and  just  the  one  to  suit  you  and  me, —  no  women 
in  the  house — he  is  single  —  he  wants  me  to  make  my 
home  there  —  I  shall  not  do  that,  but  shall  go  there  very 
frequently  —  the  dinners  and  good  wines  are  attrac 
tive  —  then  there  is  a  fine  library.  Well  Pete,  I  am  on 
the  second  month  of  my  furlough  —  to  think  it  is  almost 
six  weeks  since  we  parted  there  that  night  —  my  dear 
loving  boy,  how  much  I  want  to  see  you  —  it  seems  a 
long  while.  I  have  received  a  good  letter  from  Mr. 
O'Connor,  and  also  one  from  John  Rowland  who  is  in 
the  office  for  me.  Nothing  new  in  office  —  Well,  Pete, 
about  half  of  our  separation  is  over  —  the  next  six  weeks 
will  soon  pass  away — indeed  it  may  be  only  four,  as  John 
Rowland  told  me  he  might  wish  to  go  away  —  Good-bye 
for  the  present,  my  loving  son,  and  give  my  respects  to 
any  of  the  boys  that  ask  about  me.  WALT. 

VIII 

Brooklyn,  September  6tti,  1870.  DEAR  SON.  I  see  by 
your  letter  of  the  4th,  that  you  are  working  as  usual.  I 
sometimes  fancy  I  see  you  —  and  14* — and  Mr.  Shedd 

*  "14"  was  the  number  of  the  street  car  of  which  Pete  was 
conductor  at  this  time  and  is  used  as  a  name  for  the  car  by  Whit 
man.  Mr.  Shedd  was  the  driver  on  "  14  ". 

71 


CALAMUS 

going  up  or  down  the  avenue  —  or  at  the  end  at  George 
town —  or  Navy  Yard  —  the  old  familiar  route  and 
scenes  —  the  circle,  the  President's  House  —  Willards' — 
yth  Street — Capitol  Gate  —  the  Hill,  etc.  etc.  etc.  I 
keep  pretty  busy,  writing,  proof-reading,  etc.  I  am  at 
the  printing  office  several  hours  every  day  —  I  feel  in 
capital  health  and  spirits  —  weigh  several  pound  heavier 

—  but,  as  a  small  drawback,  and  something  new  for  me, 
find  myself  needing  glasses  every  time  I  read  or  write  * 

—  this  has  grown  upon  me  very  rapidly  since  and  during 
the  hot  weather,  and  especially  since  I  left  Washington  — 
so  I  read  and   write   as   little  as  possible,  beyond  my 
printing  matters,  etc. —  as  that  occupies  several  hours  and 
tires  my  eyes  sometimes.     We  are  having  splendid  fall 
weather,  both  days   and  nights.      Last  night  I  was  out 
late — the  scene   on   the  river  was   heavenly  —  the   sky 
clear,  and  the  moon  shining  her  brightest  —  I  felt  almost 
chilly  at  last  with  the  cold  —  and  so  put  for  home.     One 
of  the  prettiest  sights  now  is  to  see  the   great   German 
steamers,  and   other   ships,   as  they  lay  tied   up   along 
shore,  all  covered  with  gay  flags  and  streamers  —  "  dress 
ship"  as  they  call  it —  flaunting  out  in  the  breeze,  under 
a   brilliant  sky  and   sun — all  in  honor,  of  course,  of  thfc 
victory  of  the  German  Armies  —  all  the  spars  and  rigging 
are  hid  with  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  flags  —  a  big  red, 
white   and   black   flag  capping  all.     Of  course  you  may 

*  He  was  in   his  52d  year.     The  average  age  to  begin  wearing 
glasses  is  about  forty-five. 

72 


LETTERS  OF  1870 

know  that  the  way  the  war  turns  out  suits  me  to  death — 
Louis  Napoleon  fully  deserves  his  fate  —  I  consider  him 
by  far  the  meanest  scoundrel  (with  all  his  smartness)  that 
ever  sat  on  a  throne.  I  make  a  distinction,  however,  I 
admire  and  love  the  French,  and  France  as  a  nation  — 
of  all  foreign  nations,  she  has  my  sympathy  first  of  all. 
Pete,  I  was  just  reading  over  your  last  letter  again. 
Dear  son,  you  must  try  to  keep  up  a  good  heart.  You 
say  you  do  —  but  I  am  afraid  you  are  feeling,  (or  have 
felt,)  somewhat  unhappy.  One  soon  falls  into  the  habit 
of  getting  low  spirited  or  deprest  and  moody  —  if  a  man 
allows  himself,  he  will  always  find  plenty  to  make  him 
so —  Everyone  [has]  his  trouble,  disappointments,  rebuffs, 
etc.  especially  every  young  and  proud-spirited  man  who 
has  to  work  for  his  living.  But  I  want  you  to  try  and 
put  a  brave  face  against  everything  that  happens  — for 
it  is  not  so  much  the  little  misfortunes  of  life  themselves, 
as  the  way  we  take  them  and  brood  over  them,  that 
causes  the  trouble.  About  the  "tiresome"  all  I  have  to 
say  is  —  to  say  nothing  —  only  a  good  smacking  kiss  and 
many  of  them  —  and  taking  in  return  many,  many,  many, 
from  my  dear  son — good  loving  ones  too — which  will 
do  more  credit  to  his  lips  than  growling  and  complaining 
at  his  father.  WALT. 

IX 

Brooklyn,  September  9,  1870.     DEAR  SON.    I  wrote  you 
a  letter   last   Tuesday,   6th,  which  I  suppose   you  have 

73 


CALAMUS 

received.  The  last  I  have  from  you  is  yours  of  Sunday, 
4th.  I  am  still  here  in  Brooklyn,  quite  busy  with  the 
printing.  I  have  received  a  letter  from  John  Rowland, 
who  is  working  for  me  in  the  office,  complaining  that  he 
has  to  work  too  hard, —  I  should  think  by  his  letter  he 
means  to  back  out  of  his  bargain  with  me — if  so,  it  will 
be  a  bad  loss  and  inconvenience  to  me  —  But  I  shall  not 
fret  about  it  whatever  happens.  It  is  likely  that  this  will 
shorten  my  leave,  and  that  I  shall  have  to  come  back 
and  do .  my  work  myself,  about  the  end  of  the  month. 
Dear  Pete,  I  hope  you  are  having  good  times,  and  are  in 
good  spirits.  We  are  having  quite  coolish  weather  here. 
The  drivers  wear  their  over-coats  mornings  and  evenings. 
As  I  sit  here  writing  Friday  afternoon,  it  is  cloudy  and 
threatens  rain.  I  am  going  over  to  New  York  in  an  hour 
or  so,  and  shall  leave  this  in  the  P.  O.  and  then  go 
around  awhile —possibly  going  to  Niblo's  Theatre,  as 
they  play  Shakespeare's  "Julius  Caesar"  to-night,  with 
Davenport  and  quite  a  bunch  of  stars  in  the  piece.  Son, 
I  am  afraid  I  shall  not  make  out  much  of  a  letter  this 
time,  but  you  take  it  so  hard  when  I  don't  write,  I 
thought  I  would  send  a  few  lines  —  they  would  be  better 
than  nothing.  God  bless  you,  my  loving  boy  —  and  fare 
well  for  this  time.  WALT. 

X 

Brooklyn,    September  15,    1870.     DEAR    PETE.      Your 
letters  of  roth  and  i2th  have  come  safe,  and  are  welcome 

74 


LETTERS  OF  1870 

—  dear  son,  I  see  that  you  are  hard  at  work  and  appear 
to  be  in  lively  spirits  —  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  practice 
with  the  arithmetic  —  I  wish  you  to  try  and  do  a  little 
with  it  every  day  —  practice  makes  perfect  —  you  will  see 
how  soon  and  how  clear  it  will  all  come  to  you  —  If  you 
have  the  Geography  or  Atlas,  look  into  that  a  little  too  — 
one  needs  to  have  an  idea  of  the  world  too.     I  am  con 
cerned  to  hear  of  the  death  of  Amos  Dye  —  poor  Amos 

—  he  was  one  of  the  first  (I  don't  know  but  the  very 
first )  of  the  railroad  men  there  I  got  acquainted  with,  and 
rode  with  —  Pete  if  there  is  any  further  subscription  for 
Mrs.  Dye,  I  authorize  you  to  put  me  down  for  $5.     I  will 
either  send  the  money,  or  give  it  to  her  when  I  return. 
I  shall  return  in  about  three  weeks.     I  am  now  in  the 
eighth  week   of   my  furlough  —  it   is    seven    weeks    last 
Tuesday  night  since  we  parted  there  at  the  corner  of  yth 
Street.     Well  Pete,  dear  loving  boy,  I  must  now  close  for 
to-day.     WALT.       Late  Friday   afternoon,    September    16. 
DEAR  SON.    I  have  time  to  add  only  a  few  words,, in  order 
to  put  it  in  the  mail  this  evening. —  I  am  working  a  while 
every  day  at  my  printing  yet  —  but  I  go  around  consider 
able —  still  go  out  in  the  bay  —  and  enjoy  myself  among 
my  friends  here  —  and  in  riding  around,  etc. —  The  weather 
is  very  fine,  both  days  and  nights  —  I  don't  know  whether 
I  told  you  how  I  stand  now  about  the  war  —  suffice  it  to 
say,  that  as  things  have  gone  on,  and  as  the  case  stands, 
I  find  myself  now  far  more  for  the  French  than  I  ever  was 
for  the  Prussians  —  Then  I  propose  to  take  my  first  drink 

75 


CALAMUS 

with  you  when  I  return,  in  celebration  of  the  pegging  out 
of  the  Pope  and  all  his  gang  of  Cardinals  and  Priests  — 
and  entry  of  Victor  Emanuel  into  Rome,  and  making  it 
the  capital  of  the  great  independent  Italian  nation.  Good 
bye  till  next  time,  darling  boy.  WALT. 


XI 

Brooklyn,  Friday,  September  23  [1870].  DEAR  PETE. 
Your  letter  of  last  Sunday  and  Monday  came  safe — was 
glad  to  see  you  so  cheerful  and  feeling  well,  as  seemed 
plain  by  the  tone  of  the  letter.  All  goes  right  with  me. 
I  am  feeling  well,  and  business  matters  move  along  as 
favorably  as  could  be  expected,  taking  all  things  in  con 
sideration.  The  weather  is  elegant  —  we  had  rain  here 
too  last  Saturday  and  Sunday — and  since  then  it  has 
been  clear  and  bright — I  am  out  dashing  around  every 
day  —  fetch  up  home  every  night  somewhere  between  10 
and  i  o'clock,  quite  tired.  The  river  and  bay  get  more 
and  more  beautiful,  under  these  splendid  September 
skies,  the  green  waves  and  white  foam  relieved  by  the 
white  sails  of  the  crowds  of  ships  and  sail  craft  —  for  the 
shipping  interest  is  brisker  this  fall  than  it  has  been  for 
twelve  years.  Say  to  Harry  Hurt,  Mr.  Shedd,  Pensey 
and  George  Bell,  Baley  Murdock,  George  Smith,  Dr.  and 
Wash  Milburn,  or  any  of  the  railroad  boys,  or  other 
friends  that  may  inquire  after  me,  that  I  send  them  my 
best  respects —  not  forgetting  my  friends  Mr.  and  Mrs. 

76 


LETTERS  OF  1870 

Nash  —  also  Father  Boyle — (By  the  bye,  Pete,  I  have 
taken  a  great  fearful  drink  of  whiskey,  in  honor  of  the 
news  that  arrived  night  before  last  of  Victor  Emanuel 
entering  Rome  —  I  couldn't  wait.)  Later  —  afternoon  — 
It  is  now  between  3  and  4  —  I  have  been  pitching  in 
heavy  to  a  great  dish  of  stewed  beef  and  onions  mother 
cooked  for  dinner  —  and  shall  presently  cross  over  to 
New  York  and  mail  this  letter  —  shall  probably  go  to 
some  amusement  with  a  friend  this  evening  —  most  likely 
Buckley's  Serenaders. —  Pete,  dear  son.  I  hope  this  will 
find  you  all  right,  and  everything  lovely  —  It  will  not  be 
long  now  before  I  shall  be  back  —  till  then,  take  care  of 
yourself,  my  loving  son.  WALT. 

XII 

Brooklyn,  Friday  afternoon,  September  29  [1870]. 
DEAR  SON.  I  am  sitting  here  in  my  room,  having  just 
eat  a  hearty  dinner  with  my  mammy,  (  who  has  this  month 
entered  on  her  76th  year,  but  to  my  eyes  looks  young  and 
handsome  yet).  —  It  is  a  dark  and  cloudy  day  and  the 
rain  is  just  now  pouring  down  in  torrents.  It  is  a  great 
disappointment  to  many,  as  Farragut's  *  funeral  celebra 
tion  was  to  come  off  to-day,  and  all  the  military,  and  de 
partments  here,  and  hundreds  of  societies,  orders,  schools, 
etc.  had  prepared  to  turn  out  —  and  most  of  them  did 

*  David  Glasgow  Farragut,  the  celebrated  American  admiral,  b. 
in  Tenn.  5  July  1801,  d.  Portsmouth,  N.  H.,  14  Aug.  '70. 

77 


CALAMUS 

turn  out  this  forenoon,  only  to  get  soaked  with  rain,  and 
covered  with  mud  —  I  saw  one  crack  battalion ,  all  so  spruce 
and  handsome,  with  white  pants,  and  silver  gray  coats,  and 
everything  so  bright  and  trim  when  they  marched  down  — 
and  an  hour  and  a  half  afterwards,  they  looked  like  draggled 
roosters  that  had  been  pumped  on  —  we  have  had  weeks 
and  weeks  of  the  very  finest  weather  up  to  early  this  morn 
ing  and  now  it  is  the  worst  kind  to  be  out  in.  Still  we  want 
rain  so  very  much,  one  don't  feel  to  complain.  Pete,  I 
received  your  last  letter,  the  26th  —  it  was  a  good  long, 
lively  letter,  and  welcome  —  you  write  about  the  Signal 
Corps  —  Allen  deserves  credit  for  persevering  and 
studying — and  I  hope  he  .will  do  well  —  and  think  he 
will  too  —  for  he  is  sober,  and  tries  to  get  ahead  —  any 
how  he  is  a  young  man  I  like  —  Thornett  is  a  very  intel 
ligent  manly  fellow,  cute,  plucky,  etc. —  he  has  one  fault, 
and  a  bad  one  —  that  is  he  will  drink,  and  spree  it — 
which  spoils  all — True  it  is  none  of  my  business,  but  I 
feel  that  it  would  be  perhaps  the  making  of  him,  if  he 
would  give  it  up,  and  find  his  pleasure  in  some  other  way 
—  Pete,  should  you  see  Allen  again,  give  him  my  love  — 
and  the  same  for  Thornett  also.  Did  you  mean  for  me 
to  write  what  I  think  of  your  joining  the  Signal  Corps? 
But  are  you  proficient  enough  in  studies  ?  —  I  heartily 
advise  you  to  peg  away  at  the  arithmetic  —  do  something 
at  it  every  day  —  arithmetic  is  the  foundation  of  all  such 
things  ( just  as  a  good  stone  wall  is  the  foundation  for  a 
house  ) —  become  a  good  arithmetician  first  of  all  —  and 

78 


LETTERS  OF  1870 

you  surely  will,  if  you  keep  pegging  away  a  little  every  day  — 
how  much  leisure  you  have  after  all,  that  might  be  used 
for  study — I  don't  mean  all  your  leisure,  but  say  one 
hour  out  of  every  three  —  then  keep  looking  over  the 
Geography  —  when  I  come  back  I  will  bring  a  little 
pocket  Dictionary  —  with  15  minutes  writing  every  day, 
and  correcting  by  the  dictionary  I  would  warrant  you  be 
coming  a  correct  speller  and  real  handsome  writer  in  a 
year  or  less  —  and  when  one  is  a  fair  arithmetician  and 
spells  and  writes  finely  so  many  things  are  open  to  him. 
As  things  stand  at  present  I  expect  to  be  back  by  or 
before  next  Sunday.  WALT. 


79 


BEHOLD  this  swarthy  face,  these  gray  eyes, 

This  beard,  the  white  wool  unclipt  upon  my  neck, 

My  brown  hands  and  the  silent  manner  of  me  without  charm  ; 

Yet  comes  one  a  Manhattanese  and  ever  at  parting  kisses  me 

lightly  on  the  lip  with  robust  love, 
And  I  on  the  crossing  of  the  street  or  on  the  ship's  deck  give  a 

kiss  in  return, 

We  observe  that  salute  of  American  comrades  land  and  sea, 
We  are  those  two  natural  and  nonchalant  persons. 

Leaves  of  Grass  (Ed'n  1892),  p.  105. 


80 


LETTERS    OF    1871 


BROOKLYN, /««<f  21,  1871.    DEAR  PETE.     I 
arrived  home  last  night  between  1 1  and  1 2  all 
safe  and  sound — found   mother   up   waiting 
for   me  —  It  was  dark   and   stormy,  as   rain 
had  set  in  about  9  —  had   quite   a   pleasant   journey  — 
took  a  chair  in  the  reserved  seat  car,  50  cents  extra  — 
plenty   of   room   and   a  very  easy  riding   car — thought 
while  I  was  sitting  up  here  now  in  my  room   waiting  for 
dinner    I    would    write    a  line    to    boy   Pete.     Thursday 
forenoon.     The  weather  is  very  fine  now  here  —  plenty 
cool  enough  —  I  went  over  to  New  York  yesterday  aftei- 
noon  and  evening  —  took  a  ride  up  and  down   Broadway 
—  am  now  laying  off  and  taking  it  easy  in  my  room  — 
find   it   very  pleasant   here  —  fall   just   as    natural   into 
habits  of  doing  nothing  —  lie  on  the  sofa  and  read  the 
papers — come  up  punctually  to  my  meals  —  sleep  a  great 
deal  —  and  take  everything  very  quietly.     Friday  —  Pete, 
I  will  finish  this  scribbling  letter,  and  send  it  off  so  you 
will  get  it  for  Sunday  —  I  am  feeling  well  and  enjoying 
myself  doing  nothing,  spending  a  great  deal  of  time  with 
my  mother,  and  going  out  a  few  hours  every  day  on  the 
river  or  over  to  New  York —  I  hope  you  are  feeling  all  right, 
and  that  everything  is  lovely  —  I  believe  that  is  all  this 

81 


CALAMUS 

time  —  Love  to  you,  dear  son,  and  you  must  keep  a 
good  heart  through  all  the  tribulations  and  botherations, 
not  only  of  railroading  but  life  generally.  I  find  that 
Foster  the  "  Car  assassin  "  is  an  old  driver  and  conductor 
that  I  knew  quite  well  —  he  was  a  very  good  man,  very 
respectable,  only  a  fool  when  drunk — it  is  the  saddest 
case  I  know.  He  has  three  fine  children  —  the  public  is 
down  upon  him  savage  —  and  I  suppose  no  hope  for  him. 
WALT. 

II 

Brooklyn,  July  7,  1871.  DEAR  PETE.  Well  here  I  am 
still,  pretty  much  the  same  thing,  doing  nothing  and 
taking  things  easy.  By  your  letter  I  see  that  you  too 
are  jogging  along  about  the  same,  on  your  car,  with  an 
occasional  let  up.  Often  in  my  jaunts  around  the  City, 
or  on  the  bay,  I  wish  you  were  with  me,  as  you  would 
enjoy  it  much.  I  have  seen  Mr.  Hart,  formerly  of  the 
Chronicle — he  is  about  the  same  in  appearance  as 
formerly.  Pete,  I  will  not  write  much  this  time,  as  I  am 
feeling  somewhat  dull  and  stupid  this  forenoon.  We 
had  a  fine  shower  last  night,  and  there  is  some  breeze  — 
but  it  is  pretty  warm  and  oppressive  —  Pete,  here  is  a 
loving  kiss  for  you,  dear  son,  and  much,  much  love  for 
you,  as  ever,  from  your  affectionate  comrade  and  father. 

WALT. 

Ill 

Brooklyn,  Friday  July  14  [1871.]  DEAR  PETE.  It  is 
pretty  much  the  same  with  me,  as  when  I  wrote  my 

82 


LETTERS  OF  1871 

former  letters  —  still  home  here  with  my  mother,  not 
busy  at  anything  particular  but  taking  a  good  deal  of 
comfort —  It  has  been  very  hot  here,  but  one  stands  it 
better  here  than  in  Washington,  on  account  perhaps  of 
the  sea-air — I  am  still  feeling  well,  and  am  out  around 
every  day.  There  was  quite  a  brush  in  N.  Y.  on  Wed 
nesday  —  the  Irish  lower  orders,  Catholic,  had  determined 
that  the  Orange  parade,  Protestant,  should  be  put  down — 
mob  fired  and  threw  stones  —  military  fired  on  mob  — 
between  30  and  40  killed,  over  a  hundred  wounded — but 
you  have  seen  all  about  it  in  papers  —  it  was  all  up  in  a 
distant  part  of  the  City,  three  miles  from  Wall  street  — 
five  sixths  of  the  City  went  on  with  its  business  just  the 
same  as  any  other  day  —  I  saw  a  big  squad  of  prisoners 
carried  along  under  guard — they  reminded  me  of  the 
squads  of  rebel  prisoners  brought  in  Washington,  six 
years  ago.  The  New  York  police  looked  and  behaved 
splendidly  —  no  fuss,  few  words,  but  action  —  great 
brown,  bearded,  able,  American  looking  fellows,  (Irish 
stock,  though,  many  of  them)  —  I  had  great  pleasure  in 
looking  on  them  —  something  new,  to  me,  it  quite  set  me 
up  to  see  such  chaps,  all  dusty  and  worn,  looked  like 
veterans  —  Pete,  dear  son,  I  received  your  two  letters, 
and  was  glad  to  get  them. —  Mother  has  been  quite  sick, 
and  I  have  been  sort  of  nurse,  as  she  is  here  alone,  none 
of  my  sisters  being  home  at  present  —  she  is  much  better 
this  morning,  under  my  doctoring.  Pete,  I  see  by  your 
letters  that  everything  goes  on  right  with  you  on  the 

83 


CALAMUS 

road  —  give  my  best  regards  to  my  friends  among  the 
drivers  and  conductors.  Dear  son,  I  shall  now  soon  be 
coming  back,  and  we  will  be  together  again,  as  my  leave 
is  up  on  the  22nd, —  I  am  now  going  to  take  a  bath  and 
dress  myself  to  go  over  to  New  York.  Love  to  you,  my 
dearest  boy,  and  good  bye  for  this  time.  WALT. 


IV 

[Sunday,  16  July,  1871.]  By  the  sea-shore,  Coney 
Island,  Sunday  3  /.  m.  DEAR  PETE.  I  will  write  you  a 
few  lines  as  I  sit  here,  on  a  clump  of  sand  by  the  sea 
shore  —  having  some  paper  in  my  haversack,  and  an 
hour  or  two  yet  before  I  start  back.  Pete,  I  wish  you 
were  with  me  the  few  hours  past  —  I  have  just  had  a 
splendid  swim  and  souse  in  the  surf — the  waves  are 
slowly  rolling  in,  with  hoarse  roar  that  is  music  to  my 
ears  —  the  breeze  blows  pretty  brisk  from  southwest,  and 
the  sun  is  partially  clouded  —  from  where  I  sit  I  look  out 
on  the  bay  and  down  the  Narrows,  vessels  sailing  in 
every  direction  in  the  distance  —  a  great  big  black  long 
ocean  steamship  streaking  it  up  toward  New  York  —  and 
the  lines  of  hills  and  mountains,  far,  far  away  on  the 
Jersey  coast,  a  little  veiled  with  blue  vapor  —  here 
around  me,  as  I  sit  it  is  nothing  but  barren  sand  —  but  I 
don't  know  how  long  I  could  sit  here,  to  that  soothing, 
rumbling  murmuring  of  the  waves  —  and  then  the  salt 
breeze.  Friday,  July  [21].  DEAR  SON.  I  wrote  the 

84 


LETTERS  OF  1871 

preceding  nearly  a  week  ago,  intending  to  finish  and  send 
it  then —  Nothing  very  new  or  special  with  me —  Mother 
has  been  quite  unwell,  gets  better,  then  worse  again  — I 
have  applied  for  a  few  days'  further  leave  —  The  weather 
here  remains  nearly  perfect  —  we  have  had  but  three 
or  four  uncomfortably  hot  days  the  past  five  weeks  — 
every  day  a  fine  breeze  smelling  of  the  sea.  Pete,  if  you 
are  still  working,  and  all  is  going  on  smooth,  you  can  send 
me  that  $50.  —  you  might  get  Mr.  Milburn  to  send  it  to 
me  by  Post  Office  Order  —  give  it  to  him  with  this 
envelope,  and  ask  him  to  go  to  P.  O.  and  send  a  P.  O. 
Order  to  me — it  will  save  you  the  trouble  —  But  Pete, 
dear  boy,  if  anything  has  turned  up  in  meantime,  you 
needn't  send  it,  as  I  can  get  along  otherwise —  I  am  doing 
well,  both  in  health  and  business  prospects  here  —  my  book 
is  doing  first  rate  —  so  everything  is  lovely  and  the  goose 
hangs  high  —  Your  loving  comrade  and  father.  WALT. 

V 

Brooklyn,  Monday  forenoon,  July  24  [1871].  DEAR 
PETE.  I  received  the  $50  to-day  all  right,  and  a  real  help 
to  me  —  I  have  money  but  I  cannot  have  the  use  of  it 
just  now  —  so  this  comes  first  rate. —  I  spent  yesterday 
down  on  the  sea-shore,  was  all  by  myself,  had  a  splendid 
good  day,  took  my  dinner  with  me  —  went  down  in  the 
boat  twelve  miles  in  the  morning,  and  back  in  a  big  open 
horse  car  toward  evening  through  the  fields  and  woods 
—  very  pleasant  indeed  —  staid  a  long  while  in  the  water 

85 


CALAMUS 

—  weather  perfect  —  Mother  is  better  to-day  —  she  has 
been  pretty  sick,  with  several  ups  and  downs  —  I  am  as 
well  as  a  fellow  can  be  —  eat  and  sleep  tremendous  — 
shall  stay  here  a  week  or  so  longer  —  shall  be  back  first 
part   of   next   week  if   nothing  happens — Well   Pete,  I 
believe  that  is  all  this  morning  —  Good  bye,  my  darling 
son,  and  a  long,  long  kiss  from  your  loving  father.     WALT. 

VI 

Brooklyn,  July  28  [1871,  Friday^.  DEAR  SON.  I  shall 
return  on  Monday  next,  in  the  12.30  train  from  Jersey 
City  —  ( the  train  I  usually  come  in  ).  Pete,  I  have  received 
your  letter  of  26th.  Mother  seems  to-day  full  as  well  as 
usual  —  I  continue  all  right — I  have  been  on  to  New 
Haven,  about  75  miles  from  here  —  a  former  friend  of 
mine  is  in  a  dying  condition  there  from  consumption,  and 
expressed  such  a  strong  desire  to  see  me,  that  I  went  on. 
I  thought  he  would  die  while  I  was  there  —  he  was  all 
wasted  to  a  skeleton,  faculties  good,  but  voice  only  a  low 
whisper  —  I  returned  last  night,  after  midnight. —  Well, 
bub,  my  time  here  is  short  —  I  have  had  a  good  quiet 
visit  —  the  best  in  some  respects  yet — and  I  feel  satisfied 

—  My  darling  son,   we  will  very  soon  be  together  again, 
your  loving  comrade,  WALT. 


86 


LETTERS    OF    1872 


BROOKLYN,  107  North  Portland  Av.,  Feb. 
1 6,  1872.  DEAR  PETE.  Dear,  dear  son. 
We  are  having  a  very  cold  spell  here,  the 
severest  of  the  winter  —  freezes  up  the 
pipes  through  the  house,  and  burst  them  yesterday, 
causing  great  trouble  —  I  too  have  got  a  bad  cold,  my 
head  all  stopped.  I  came  through  all  right  last  Saturday, 
on  time  —  quite  a  pleasant  trip  —  Mother  is  very  well, 
full  as  well  as  usual —  I  am  having  quiet  good  times,  home 
with  mother — stay  in  the  house  more  than  usual  on  ac 
count  of  the  bitter  cold  (but  go  out  two  or  three  hours 
during  the  day).  I  will  only  write  this  very  short  letter 
to  you  this  time,  but  send  you  my  love,  my  darling  son  — 
I  think  about  you  every  day,  dear  son  —  will  write  more 
soon — here  is  a  kiss  for  you,  dear  loving  son.  WALT. 
Pete,  I  am  making  out  a  poor  scraggy  letter  to  you  this 
time — I  feel  pretty  well,  but  don't  seem  to  feel  like  writ 
ing  —  Good  bye  for  to-day,  my  loving  boy.  Your  true 
Father  and  comrade  always. 

II 

Brooklyn,   Friday  noon,    Feb.  23    [1872].     DEAR  SON. 
Your  letter   received  this  morning  speaks   of   the  mild 

87 


CALAMUS 

weather  there  —  but  it  has  been  and  remains  very  cold 
here  —  so  much  so  that  I  don't  go  around  half  as  much 
as  I  would  like.  My  cold  hangs  on,  though  not  so  bad  as 
at  first.  The  state  of  the  weather,  and  my  cold,  etc., 
have  rather  blocked  me  from  having  my  usual  enjoyment 
here,  so  far  —  but  I  expect  to  make  up  for  it  by  and  by. 
Dear  son,  I  see  you  are  off  *  —  I  take  it  by  your  letter 
that  you  are  feeling  well  in  health,  and  having  as  good  a 
time  as  the  law  allows  —  I  wish  we  could  be  together 
there,  some  of  these  moonlight  nights  —  but  here  it  is  too 
cold  for  comfort  —  (the  water  pipes  here  froze  again  last 
night,  causing  trouble)  —  I  go  out  a  couple  of  hours 
middle  of  the  day,  but  keep  in  nights  —  I  have  got  the 
new  edition  of  my  book  under  way  —  and  it  will  be  satis 
factory  I  think  —  It  will  be  in  one  volume,  and  will  make 
a  better  appearance  than  any  of  the  former  ones  —  Do 
you  go  up  to  the  Debates  in  the  Senate  ?  —  I  see  by  the 
papers  they  are  having  high  times  —  Senator  Schurz 
appears  to  come  out  ahead  of  them  all  —  he  is  a  real 
good  speaker  —  I  enjoy  the  way  he  shakes  them  up, 
(very  much  like  a  first  class  terrier  in  a  pit,  with  a  lot  of 
rats).  Pete,  I  send  you  $10  enclosed,  as  you  may  need 
it —  Should  you  want  more,  you  write,  as  I  have  plenty  — 
I  am  writing  this  up  in  my  back  room,  home  —  have  had 
a  nice  breakfast  of  hot  potatoes  and  first-rate  Oregon 
salmon,  with  the  best  coffee  that's  made  —  home-made 

*  /.  e.  off  work. 


LETTERS  OF  1872 

bread  and  sweet  butter  —  everything  tip-top  —  get  along 
well  enough — 'you  must  try  to  do  the  same  —  so  good 
bye  for  this  time,  my  own  loving  boy  —  WALT. 


Ill 

Brooklyn,  Monday  evening,  March  4  [1872],  DEAR 
SON.  I  am  sitting  here  in  my  room  home,  alone — it  is 
snowing  hard  and  heavy  outside  and  cold  and  wintry  as 
ever  —  there  has  not  been  one  mild  day  here  for  the  past 
three  weeks  —  two  thirds  of  the  time  spiteful  and  gusty 
wind  and  clouds  of  dust — and  this  with  bitter  cold  — 
seems  to  me  I  have  felt  the  cold  more  than  for  the  last  three 
winters  —  But  I  reckon  I  have  said  enough  on  this  point. 

—  Pete,  I  cannot  write  anything  interesting  to  you  as  I  do 
not  go  anywhere  nor  see  anything  new  —  I  have  attended 
to  the  bringing  out   the  new  edition  of  my  book,  but  as 
the  plates  were  all  ready  before,  it  is  not  much  of  a  job  — 
I  am  home  every  night  (  and  half  the  days  also  ).      Tues 
day  noon.      I  am  afraid  this  letter  is   not  destined  to  be 
very   cheering  —  I   was   attacked    last   night   with    sore 
throat,  pretty  bad  —  still  I  make  out  this  morning  to  worry 
down  a  fair  breakfast  —  the  weather  has  been  so  infernal 

—  last  evening  towards  sundown,  begun  the  spitefulest 
wind  and  cold  I  ever  knew,  great  clouds  suddenly  come 
up,  inky  black,  and  all  of  a  sudden  snow  fell  so  thick  and 
fast,  it  was  like  a  dense  fog,  —  so  thick  the  hard  wind 
didn't  dissipate  it  in  the  least  —  this  lasted  about  half  an 

89 


CALAMUS 

hour,  and  was  about  the  highest  old  weather  exhibition  I 
ever  witnessed —  snow  fell  two  inches  thick  in  fifteen 
minutes.  Dear  Pete,  how  are  you  getting  along? — how 
about  Sailer  and  the  R.  R.  ?  —  I  suppose  slow  and  aggra 
vating  enough — by  what  you  said  in  your  last.  Dear 
Pete,  I  don't  think  I  shall  stay  here  as  long  as  I  originally 
intended  —  I  shall  be  back,  by,  or  before,  the  end  of  this 
month  —  I  am  writing  these  lines  home  in  the  kitchen  — 
mother  is  sitting  in  the  rocking  chair  sewing  something — 
and  Eddy  *  is  grinding  some  good  coffee  in  a  coffee  mill  — 
it  smells  good  —  (I  have  retreated  to  the  kitchen  for  the 
hot  fire  —  here  now  I  am  not  like  I  am  in  Washington  — 
you  would  laugh  to  see  me  hovering  over  the  fire  )  —  My 
darling  son  you  must  keep  a  good  heart  —  don't  get  dis 
couraged —  love  to  you,  baby,  I  enclose  $10. —  and  can 
send  you  whatever  you  want  —  WALT. 


IV 

Brooklyn,  Thursday  forenoon  [March  7,  1892].  DEAR 
SON.  Well,  I  am  still  here,  Pete,  kept  in  pretty  close 
quarters  by  the  weather  —  but  it  seems  to  be  something 
of  a  let  up  this  morning.  There  is  nothing  special  to 

*  Edward  Whitman,  a  younger  brother  who  was  imbecile.  Walt 
Whitman  always  spoke  of  him  as  "  crippled."  He  provided  for 
Eddy  during  a  large  part  of  his  ( W.  W's. )  life  and  made  provision 
for  his  maintenance  in  his  will.  But  Eddy  died  in  1892  only  a  few 
weeks  after  W.  W's.  own  death. 

90 


LETTERS  OF  1872 

write  about  —  but  I  thought  I  would  send  you  a  line  this 
morning.  I  sent  you  a  letter  two  days  ago  with  $10. — 
(the  second  $10  I  have  sent)  write  me  whether  you 
received  it  all  right.  I  hope  you  are  not  discouraged  by 
the  way  things  work  on  the  road  —  It  won't  be  very  long 
now  before  I  shall  be  back  with  you  —  Give  my  love  to 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Nash  —  tell  Wash  Milburne  I  wish  him 
success  in  the  "graduate  of  pharmacy"  line,  and  every 
thing  else  —  give  him  my  love. —  Pete,  I  believe  that  is 
all  this  time,  dear  baby,  WALT.  With  a  kiss  from  your 
loving  father. 


107  North  Portland  Ave.,  Brooklyn,  March  15  [1872]. 
DEAR  SON.  I  will  just  write  you  a  line,  as  you  may  be 
looking  for  word  from  me  Saturday.  The  weather  has 
let  up  a  little,  but  it  is  cold  enough  yet  —  I  have  been 
to  the  Italian  Opera  twice,  heard  Nilsson  both  times, — she 
is  very  fine  —  One  night  Trovatore,  and  one,  Robert,  with 
Brignoli  —  both  good.  I  expect  to  return  in  about  two 
weeks  —  I  am  writing  this  here  in  the  kitchen,  home, — 
I  have  deserted  my  own  room  this  visit,  as  it  is  so  cold  even 
with  a  fire  —  Mother  had  a  bad  spell  three  days,  com 
mencing  Sunday  last  —  but  is  about  as  usual  to-day  and 
yesterday  —  We  have  splendid  buckwheat  cakes  for 
breakfast  —  sometimes  I  fry  them  myself  —  I  wish  you 
could  just  be  here  and  eat  breakfast  —  I  think  my 
mammy  makes  the  best  coffee  in  the  world,  and  buck- 


CALAMUS 

wheats  ditto  —  mince-pies  ditto. —  My  new  edition*  looks 
best  yet  —  it  is  from  the  same  plates  as  the  last  only  in 
one  Volume  bound  handsomely  in  green  cloth  —  my 
books  are  beginning  to  do  pretty  well  —  I  send  you  the 
publisher's  slip.  —  Well,  Pete,  I  believe  that  is  all  this 
time.  Remember  me  to  any  of  the  boys  on  the  road  that 
may  inquire  for  me  —  also  Adrian  Jones,  that  works  in 
the  theatre  —  it  is  now  after  ten,  Friday  forenoon,  clear, 
cold,  and  windy  —  and  I  am  going  over. to  New  York  to 
have  a  lot  of  my  books  sent  to  England  by  tomorrow's 
steamer.  Dear  son,  I  send  my  best  love,  as  always. 
We  will  soon  be  together  again,  dear  son.  WALT. 

VI 

Brooklyn,  Friday  forenoon,  March  22  [1872].  DEAR 
PETE,  I  received  your  letter  yesterday.  Pete,  you  must 
be  quite  steady  at  work,  and  no  time  to  spare.  Well, 
perhaps  it  is  just  as  satisfactory  considering  all  things. 
The  cold  weather  has  just  kept  on  here,  as  before — cold 
enough  all  the  time  —  and  then  a  spell  of  damned  bitter 
stinging  cold  every  now  and  then  extra  —  not  one  single 
mild  warm  day  since  I  have  been  home  —  six  weeks  —  I 
am  middling  well,  go  out  some  every  day,  but  not  much 
—  Best  thing  is  my  eating  and  sleeping  —  I  fall  back  on 
them  altogether — I  sleep  splendid,  have  a  good  bed, 
plenty  of  cover  —  get  up  pretty  early  though  and  make 

*  *'.  <».,  the  '72  edn.  of  the  "  Leaves."  The  '71  edn.  was  issued  in 
pale  green  paper  covers  —  the  '72  in  dark  green  cloth. 

92 


LETTERS  OF  1872 

the  fire,  and  set  things  agoing,  before  mother  comes  out 

—  she  has  had  some  bad  times  with  rheumatism,  etc. — 
one    hand   and    arm    quite    disabled  —  still    she  is  very 
cheerful,  looks  well  in   the  face,  and  does  more  work 
cooking,  etc.,  than  most  young  women  —  We  have  grand 
breakfasts,  buckwheat  cakes,   coffee,   etc.,   eggs,   etc.  — 
just  wish  you  could  come  in  mornings  and  partake.     We 
two  *  always  breakfast  together,  and  it  is  first  rate  —  So 
you  see  I  fall  back  upon  sleeping  and  eating,  (as  I  said) 

—  Should  be   glad   to    see    Parker   Milburn  —  hope   he 
will   call   to-day  —  I  send  you  a  paper  by  mail. — Well, 
Pete,  I   believe  that   is   all,  this   time.     Good   bye,  my 
darling    son  —  So  the  new  shirts  turn  out  a  success  do 
they?     I  have  a  great  mind  to  be  jealous  —  Give  my 
love  to  Wash  Milburn,  Adrian  Jones,  and  all  the  R.  R. 
boys.     Your  loving  old  WALT. 

VII 

Brooklyn,  Friday  afternoon  [March  29,  1872.]  DEAR 
BOY  PETE.  I  have  received  your  letter,  and  the  paper 
with  the  account  of  Mr.  Huntington's  death — it  seems  a 
sudden  and  sorrowful  thing  —  Pete,  I  shall  continue  here 
another  week — I  see  you  are  working  [it]  appears  quite 
steady — I  continue  pretty  well — Mother  is  middling  — 
This  last  two  days  the  weather  has  been  real  pleasant  — 
I  have  been  out  most  of  the  time  —  It  is  now  between  4 
and  5  —  I  am  writing  this  up  in  my  room,  home  —  am 
*  i.  e.  his  mother  and  himself. 
93 


CALAMUS 

going  out,  and  over  to  New  York  this  evening  —  Nothing 
special  to  write  about  —  Pete,  my  darling  boy,  I  have 
been  writing  some  long  letters  on  business,  etc. — and 
feel  very  little  like  writing  (so  I  will  just  dry  up  for  this 
occasion),  here  is  a  good  buss  to  you  dear  son  from  your 
loving  father  always. 

VIII 

Brooklyn,  Friday  forenoon,  April  5  [1872].  DEAR  SON. 
I  expect  to  be  back  in  Washington  next  week  —  some 
where  in  the  middle  of  the  week. —  I  am  well  —  Mother 
is  pretty  well  —  I  received  your  letter  three  days  since 
—  Pete,  things  must  be  going  on  about  the  same  as  ever. 
— As  I  write  it  is  pleasant  weather,  and  I  am  going  out 
to  get  the  good  of  it  —  Pete,  take  care  of  yourself  till  I  see 
you,  dear  boy.  WALT. 

IX 

Brooklyn,  107  North  Portland  Ave.,  June  14  [1872]. 
DEAR  SON.  I  got  home  all  right  Saturday  night  —  and 
have  been  having  quite  a  good  time.  There  is  nothing 
very  new  —  Mother  is  well  as  usual.  I  shall  print  my 
College  poem*  in  a  small  book — it  will  be  small  —  and 

*The  poem  referred  to  was  read  by  W.  W.  at  "Commencement," 
Dartmouth  College,  N.  H.,  26  June,  '72,  on  invitation  of  the  United 
Literary  Societies.  It  was  afterwards  printed  in  a  small  volume 
which  was  called  by  the  name  of  this  poem :  As  a  Strong  Bird  on 
Pinions  Free  and  other  Poems.  Washington,  D.C.  1872.  In  the 
current  Leaves  (1891-2)  it  will  be  found,  p.  346,  under  the  heading: 
"  Thou  Mother  wi»h  thy  Equal  Brood." 

94 


LETTERS  OF  1872 

is  intended  as  the  beginning  of  a  larger  one  —  I  am  hav 
ing  it  set  up  at  the  printing  office  —  will  send  you  one  in 
ten  or  twelve  days.  Pete,  how  are  you  getting  along?  — 
I  suppose  on  1 4  the  same  as  when  I  was  there  —  I  see 
by  the  papers  that  the  head  men  have  mostly  migrated 
from  Washington,  and  that  it  is  said  to  be  hot  and  dull 
enough  there. —  Do  you  see  anything  of  Mr.  Tasistro?* — 
I  received  the  letter  he  sent  to  the  office  for  me  —  I  am 
writing  this  in  the  house  in  Portland  Av. —  we  are  having 
a  showery  afternoon  —  Good  bye,  my  darling  boy — and  I 
will  try  to  write  again  soon  (and  a  more  interesting 
letter) — WALT. 

X 

Brooklyn,  June  18,  1872.  I>EAR  PETE.  I  am  having 
a  better  time  here  than  I  had  my  last  visit.  The  weather 
is  very  pleasant — pretty  hot  during  the  middle  of  the 
day,  but  mornings  and  nights  perfect  —  No  moonlight 
walks  out  beyond  Uniontown  here — but  I  go  on  the 
river  and  cross  to  and  fro  in  the  pilot  house.  Last  night 
was  beautiful — Saturday  I  spent  at  Coney  Island  —  went 
in  swimming  —  Mother  is  only  middling — has  some 
pretty  bad  spells  with  rheumatism  —  will  break  up  here, 

*  Count  Michael  Tasistro,  of  French-Irish  parentage,  came  origi 
nally  to  this  country  with  a  hunting  party  of  French  noblemen.  He 
remained  here  permanently  and,  becoming  poor,  supported  himself 
by  teaching  French  and  by  literary  work.  He  died  while  engaged 
in  the  translation  of  the  Comtede  Paris'  History  of  tke  Civil  War. 

95 


CALAMUS 

and  go  with  my  brother  George  to  Camden,  N.  J.,  in 
September.  I  suppose  you  got  a  letter  from  me  last 
Saturday,  as  I  wrote  you  the  day  before.  Pete,  dear 
son,  if  you  should  want  any  of  your  money  send  me 
word.  It  is  either  $120  or  $130  (I  am  not  sure  —  but 
I  have  a  memorandum  in  my  desk  at  Washington)  —  I 
am  feeling  real  well,  and  I  hope  you  are  too,  my  loving 
boy.  WALT. 

XI 

Hanover,  N.  H.,  Thursday,  June  27  [1872].  DEAR 
SON.  I  will  write  you  just  a  line  to  show  you  I  am  here 
away  north,  and  alive  and  kicking.  I  delivered  my 
poem  here  before  the  College  yesterday.  All  went  off 
very  well. —  (It  is  rather  provoking — after  feeling  un 
usually  well  this  whole  summer, —  since  Sunday  last  I 
have  been  about  half  sick  and  am  so  yet,  by  spells.)  I 
am  to  go  to  Vermont  for  a  couple  of  days,  and  then  back 
to  Brooklyn. —  Pete  I  received  your  letter,  that  you  had 
been  taken  off  —  write  to  me  Saturday  3oth,  or  Sunday 
—  direct  to  usual  address  107  Portland  Ave.,  Brooklyn. 
I  will  send  you  the  little  book  with  my  poem,  (and 
others)  when  I  get  back  to  Brooklyn.  Pete,  did  my 
poem  appear  in  the  Washington  papers  —  I  suppose 
Thursday  or  Friday  — Chronicle  or  Patriot  ?  If  so  send 
me  one  —  (or  one  of  each). —  It  is  a  curious  scene 
here,  as  I  write,  a  beautiful  old  New  England  village, 
150  years  old,  large  houses  and  gardens,  great  elms, 

96 


LETTERS  OF  1872 

plenty  of  hills  —  every  thing  comfortable,  but  very 
Yankee  —  not  an  African  to  be  seen  all  day — not  a  grain 
of  dust — not  a  car  to  be  seen  or  heard  —  green  grass 
everywhere  —  no  smell  of  coal  tar. —  As  I  write  a  party 
are  playing  base  ball  on  a  large  green  in  front  of  the 
house — the  weather  suits  me  first  rate  —  cloudy  but  no 
rain.  Your  loving  WALT. 

XII 

Brooklyn,  June  30  [1872].  DEA'R  BOY.  I  received 
your  letter  of  Tuesday  last,  and  was  glad  to  hear  every 
thing  was  going  on  all  right.  I  am  well,  and  still  enjoy 
ing  myself  in  a  quiet  way  —  I  have  been  home  every 
evening  since  I  come  —  but  out  quite  a  good  deal  in  the 
day  —  the  weather  is  splendid  here  —  plenty  cool  enough. 
This  has  got  to  be  a  great  place  for  boating  —  all  the 
rich  men  have  their  yachts,  and  most  every  young  man 
belongs  to  a  boat  or  yacht  club  —  sometimes  of  a 
pleasant  day,  especially  Sunday,  you  will  see  them  out  all 
over  up  and  down  the  bay  in  swarms  —  the  yachts  look 
beautiful  enough,  with  white  sails  and  many  with  white 
hulls  and  their  long  pennants  flying  —  it  is  a  new  thing 
to  see  them  so  plenty.  1 1  o'clock,  Friday  forenoon.  Pete, 
I  am  sitting  in  my  room,  home,  finishing  this  —  have  just 
had  a  bath,  and  dressed  myself  to  go  over  to  New  York, 
partly  on  business  —  shall  go  down  and  put  this  in  the 
P.  O.  here  —  shall  walk  down,  as  it  is  a  very  pleasant 
forenoon. —  When  you  write  tell  me  if  you  have  read 

97 


CALAMUS 

Charles  Reade's  novel  of  "  Foul  Play  "  —  if  not,  I  have 
one  here  I  will  send  you —  Dear  son,  I  believe  that  is  all 
this  time — I  send  my  love,  dear  son,  and  a  good  loving 
kiss  —  I  think  of  you  every  day  —  Give  my  best  regards 
to  all  enquiring  friends,  and  inform  them  I  expect  to  be 
back  in  about  three  weeks  —  Good  bye,  my  darling  boy, 
—  from  your  comrade  and  father.  WALT. 


XIII 

Brooklyn,  July  12  [1872].  DEAR  SON  PETE.  I  have 
been  sick  —  but  am  feeling  better  now,  and  soon  expect 
to  be  all  right.  Mother  too  is  unwell.  I  expect  to  re 
main  here  ten  or  twelve  days  longer.  Pete,  I  will  only 
write  a  short  letter  this  time  —  Love  to  you,  dear  son. 
WALT. 

XIV 

New  York ,  Friday  afternoon,  J  uly  19  [1872].  DEAR 
BOY  PETE.  I  received  your  letter  yesterday  —  nothing 
very  new  with  me  —  am  better  than  I  was  when  I  wrote 
you  before  —  shall  return  to  Washington  next  week, 
somewhere  about  the  middle  of  the  week.  Pete,  you 
must  try  to  keep  good  heart  —  Perhaps  this  will  find 
you  at  work  again  —  if  not,  you  must  keep  up  a  cheerful 
heart  all  the  same.  I  have  just  been  spending  a  couple 
of  hours  with  Joaquin  Miller  —  I  like  him  real  well.  $10. 
enclosed.  WALT. 

98 


LETTERS    OF    1873 

I 

[1873].  DEAR  PETE.  I  have  been  very  unwell  — 
but  am  better  again  —  at  least  at  the  present  moment. 
I  am  stopping  at  Mr.  Ashton's,  1202  K  St.  next  door  to 
the  southwest  corner  of  K  and  i2th* — come  up  and 
see  me  —  I  wrote  you  a  line  two  days  ago,  to  Milburn's  — 
Did  you  not  get  it  ?  WALT.| 

II 

Camden,\  May  31.  [1873].  I  expect  to  return  Mon 
day^  June  2  between  half-past  5  and  6,  but  probably 
too  late  to  see  you  that  evening.  Come  up  Tuesday.  I 
am  about  the  same  as  to  my  sickness  —  no  worse. 
WALT. 

*  In  Washington. 

t  This  note  was  probably  written  between  ist  and  26ih  Jan.  '73. 
Between  it  and  the  next  letter  in  this  volume  intervene  Letters  in 
Sickness  (26  Jan.  to  1 6  May,  '73)  written  to  his  mother  and  printed 
in  In  Re  Walt  Whitman,  pp.  73-92. 

\  Walt  Whitman  left  Washington  the  2oth  May  —  pretty  sick  — 
left  arm  and  leg  paralyzed  —  and  for  a  time  lived  with  his  brother 
George  in  Camden,  N.  J. 

§  He  almost  certainly  did  not  return  to  Washington  as  intended 
—  see  —  infra  —  letter  of  28  Aug.  '73. 

99 


CALAMUS 

III 

322  Stevens  St.,  Camden,  N.J.  Wednesday  forenoon, 
June  18  [1873]-  DEAR  PETE.  It  has  been  a  good  move 
of  me  coming  here,  as  I  am  pleasantly  situated,  have  two 
rooms  on  2nd  floor,  with  north  and  south  windows,  so  I 
can  have  the  breeze  through — I  can  have  what  I  wish  in 
the  grub  line,  have  plenty  of  good  strawberries — and  my 
brother  and  sister  are  very  kind  —  It  is  very  quiet,  and 
I  feel  like  going  in  for  getting  well  —  There  is  not  much 
change  so  far — but  I  feel  comparatively  comfortable  since 
I  have  been  here  —  and  better  satisfied  —  My  brother  is 
full  of  work  (inspecting  pipe  manufactured  here  at  the 
foundries  for  water  works  and  sewers  in  northern  cities) 
—  he  is  in  splendid  health  —  a  great  stout  fellow  —  weighs 
more  than  I  do  —  he  is  building  a  handsome  new  house 
here,  to  be  done  latter  part  of  August.  Thursday  iqth. 
Nothing  very  new  —  I  have  had  some  bad  feeling  in  the 
head  yesterday  afternoon  and  this  morning  —  but  it  will 
pass  over  no  doubt  —  It  is  warm  weather  here,  days,  but 
pleasant  nights  so  far  —  Pete,  when  you  get  the  Star  save 
it  and  send  to  me  —  you  can  send  two  in  a  wrapper  with 
a  one  cent  stamp.  (I  enclose  some,  for  fear  you  haven't 
any).  Friday  2oth.  Pretty  hot  weather  here  and  needs 
rain  badly — I  am  about  the  same  —  feel  pretty  well  for 
a  while,  and  then  have  a  bad  spell  —  have  distress  in  the 
head  at  times,  but  keep  up  a  good  heart  —  or  at  any  rate 
try  to.  —  Give  my  respects  to  all  enquiring  friends  —  tell 

100 


LETTERS  OF  1873 


them  I  expect  to  return  to  Washingfjfo?  >n  about  a,  couple 
of  months  —  tell  me  who  you;ifteet,  and  every  little, tfring, 
and  who  asks  about  me,  etc.,  as  frVi!!  "interest  °me*.°  -  *  t 
have  made  a  raise  of  some  new  summer  clothes,  real  nice 
—  thin  black  pants  and  vest,  a  blue  flannel  suit,  and 
some  white  vests.  —  Love  to  Wash  Milburn  —  let  him 
read  this  letter  if  he  wishes  —  Write  how  you  are  getting 
along  —  Good  bye  dear  son.  WALT. 

IV 

\Camden^\  Tfiursday  evening,  June  26  [1873].  DEAR 
PETE.  I  received  your  note  to-day.  I  send  you  a  note  I 
have  written  to  Mr.  Edmunds,  —  first  take  it  to  Mr.  Noyes, 
(to  whom  it  is  enveloped,)  and  get  an  additional  line  I 
have  requested  from  him  —  and  then,  if  you  conclude  to 
try  for  the  carrier's  place,  —  go  up  and  take  it  yourself  to 
Mr.  Edmunds.  I  must  tell  you  another  thing.  I  have 
written  (wrote  yesterday)  a  short  note  to  Mr.  Dubarry, 
your  superintendent,  asking  him  if  you  couldn't  be  better 
placed  when  the  changes  of  the  Baltimore  connection 
are  made.  It  may  not  amount  to  anything  but  I  took  a 
notion  to  write  it.  Pete,  I  am  not  having  a  very  good 
time  —  my  head  troubles  me  —  yesterday  was  as  bad  as 
ever  —  as  far  from  well  as  ever  —  to-day  I  am  a  little 
easier,  and  have  been  out  a  few  steps.  But  I  keep  up  a 
good  heart,  dear  son  —  and  you  must  too.  WALT. 
If  you  conclude  not  to  try  for  the  carrier's  berth,  let  the 
letters  go. 

JOI 


CALAMUS 


'^24^ £tivejts'^$t«,'Ctim4£n,  JV.  /.,  Monday,  [July]  7 
[1873].  DEAR  SON.  I  am  only  able  to  write  the  same 
old  story  —  since  I  last  wrote,  I  have  had  some  pretty 
bad  spells  —  suffered  at  intervals  all  last  week,  and 
yesterday,  with  the  strange  and  painful  distress  in  the 
head,  I  have  had  so  much  of  —  But  I  feel  better  to-day  — 
Every  time  I  feel  better,  I  find  myself  much  encouraged 

—  I  still  stick  here,  as  I  don't  dare  to  trust  myself  in  a 
strange  place,  if  I  can  help  it.  I  received  your  letter 
telling  me  you  was  too  late  to  get  any  chance  for  the 
letter  carrier's  position  —  and  about  Mr.  Noyes'  friendli 
ness —  Are  things  just  the  same,  as  far  as  you  and  your 
crew  are  concerned?  —  I  think  about  you  every  night  — 
I  reproach  myself  that  I  did  not  fly  around  when  I  was 
well,  and  in  Washington,  to  find  some  better  employment 
for  you  —  now  I  am  here,  crippled,  laid  up  for  God 
knows  how  long,  unable  to  help  myself,  or  my  dear  boy. 
—  I  do  not  miss  anything  of  Washington  here,  but  your 
visits  —  if  I  could  only  have  a  daily  visit  here  such  as  I 
had  there  —  I  go  out  very  little  here  —  there  is  not  much 
convenience  here,  for  me  to  go  out — one  car  line  passing 
about  two  squares  off,  consists  of  four  cars,  running 
semi-occasionally — and  another  line,  about  3}^  squares 
the  other  way,  has  I  believe  6  or  7  cars  —  I  get  out  and 
take  a  ride  in  them  sometimes  —  my  best  jaunt  is  going 
in  them  to  the  ferry,  and  crossing  on  the  boat  to  Phila- 

102 


LETTERS  OF  1873 

delphia,  to  and  fro,  several  times  —  But  a  great  portion 
of  the  time  I  do  not  feel  able  to  go  out  alone  —  fortu 
nately  I  do  not  have  any  dizzy  spells,  nor  any  symptoms 
of  them,  so  far, —  so  I  am  not  worried  about  that  when  I 
am  out  —  As  I  write  this  it  is  a  very  pleasant  cool  after 
noon  and  I  am  sitting  here  by  the  window  in  a  big  easy 
chair.  Pete,  I  hope  this  will  find  you  feeling  well,  and 
in  good  spirits. —  Write  me  a  good  long  letter  and  tell  me 
everything  —  it  will  do  you  good  —  how  does  the  new 
time  go  on  the  road,  since  Baltimore  Tunnel  connection  ? 
—  how  about  Washington  —  Tasistro — every  body? 
Get  a  good  sheet  of  paper,  and  sit  down  in  the  Park, 
with  your  lead  pencil  —  I  send  you  an  envelope  —  also 
some  one  cent  stamps. — Love  to  you,  dear  boy  —  keep 
up  a  good  heart  —  I  do  yet  —  though  it  is  a  long  and 
hard  pull  sometimes  with  me  lately.  WALT. 


VI 

Camden,  Tuesday  afternoon,  July  15  [1873].  DEAR 
PETE.  There  is  nothing  new  or  different  with  me  —  I 
am  no  better  in  any  respect,  don't  know  what  is  going  to 
come  out  of  it  all  —  We  are  having  pretty  hot  weather 
here  just  now,  but  it  does  not  affect  me  much — it  is  not 
near  as  oppressive  here  as  the  Washington  heat  —  I  re 
ceived  your  letter,  my  dear  son  —  with  the  paper  —  I  will 
write  more  to-morrow.  Wednesday  afternoon.  Pete,  I 
have  little  to  write  to  you  about,  as  I  remain  anchored 

103 


CALAMUS 

here  in  the  house  nearly  all  the  time.  As  I  write  I  am 
sitting  in  my  mother's  former  room,  in  her  old  arm 
chair. —  Spend  a  great  deal  of  my  time  here,  as  I  haven't 
felt  like  going  out  lately  —  half  a  block  tires  me.  Pete, 
my  darling  son,  I  still  think  I  shall  weather  it  but  time 
only  can  show  —  Mother's  death  is  on  my  mind  yet,* 
time  does  not  lift  the  cloud  from  me  at  all  —  I  want  much 
to  get  to  the  sea-shore,  either  Long  Island  or  the  Jersey 
coast,  and  shall  make  a  start  if  I  get  strong  enough —  It 
is  not  so  hot  here  to-day.  So  long,  my  darling  boy. 
WALT. 

VII 

Camden,  Thursday  noon,  July  24,  1873.  DEAR  SON 
PETE  : — It  is  still  the  same  old  story  with  me  —  the  best 
I  can  say  is  that  I  don't  seem  to  get  worse,  even  if  I 
don't  get  better.  Your  letter  came,  and  the  Star,  with 
the  item  about  Tasistro.  If  must  be  very  hot  there  in 
Washington,  but  you  stand  it  better  than  most  any  one  I 
know.  I  too  never  used  to  think  anything  of  heat 
or  cold,  from  20  to  50 — but  last  summer  I  felt  the  heat 
severely,  for  the  first  time.  Pete,  as  I  have  told  you 
several  times,  I  still  think  I  shall  get  over  this,  and  we 
will  be  together  again  and  have  some  good  times  —  but 
for  all  that  it  is  best  for  you  to  be  prepared  for  some 
thing  different  —  my  strength  can't  stand  the  pull  for 
ever,  and  if  continued  must  sooner  or  later  give  out  — 

*  Mrs.  Whitman  died  May  23,  1873. 
104 


LETTERS  OF  1873 

Now  Pete,  don't  begin  to  worry  boy,  or  cry  about  me,  for 
you  haven't  lost  me  yet,  and  I  really  don't  think  it  is 
likely  yet  —  but  I  thought  it  best  to  give  a  word  of 
caution,  if  such  a  thing  should  be  —  I  am  quite  comfort 
able  here  and  have  everything  I  want  —  I  went  out  at 
y2  past  5  yesterday  afternoon,  and  rode  in  the  cars  here 
to  the  ferry,  and  crossed  the  Delaware  from  Camden  to 
Philadelphia  four  or  five  times  —  very  pleasant.  To-day 
is  burning  hot,  but  I  am  feeling  as  well  as  usual.  Friday 
25///,  4  o'clock.  Pretty  hot  again  to-day  here,  but  not 
so  oppressive  to  bear  as  in  Washington  —  I  am  feeling 
about  as  usual  to-day  —  shall  try  to  get  out  a  few  steps 
after  I  send  this  —  Good  bye  for  this  time,  dear  loving 
son.  WALT. 


VIII 


Pete  you  must  read  this  over  Sunday,  as  a  ten  minutes' 
talk  like,  about  all  sorts  of  odds  and  ends. 

Camden,  Friday  afternoon,  Aug.  i  [1873].  DEAR  SON. 
Your  letter  is  received  to-day,  and  enclosed  I  send  you 
$20. —  I  want  you  to  write  soon  —  as  I  shall  want  to 
know  if  it  reached  you  safe.  I  am  feeling  relieved  of 
the  worst  distress  in  the  head  now  for  the  last  two  days 
—  had  it  straight  along  bad  enough  the  first  three  days 
in  the  week  —  but  yesterday  and  to-day  it  has  mostly  let 
up — have  been  out  to-day,  and  over  to  Philadelphia  —  it 
is  hard  work,  especially  as  I  have  no  one  to  go  with  me 

105 


CALAMUS 

—  but  I  put  a  bold  face  on,  and  my  best  foot  foremost  —  Is 
Wash  Milburn  there  in  the  store  ?  or  has  he  gone  on  his 
vacation  in  the  country?  —  answer  me  in  your  next  —  I 
think  of  writing  a  few  lines  to  him  —  Hot  weather  here, 
but  I  don't  suffer  much  from  it — though  I  think  it  is  bad 
for  me,  and  I  hope  much  more  from  the  cool  season,  if  I 
get  through  this — Pete,  I  too  see  quite  a  good  deal  of 
Railroad,  and  hear  more — some  70  rods  off  is  the  great 
depot  of  the  Camden  and  Amboy,  bells  and  whistles  and 
trains  rumbling  continually,  night  and  day,  and  lots  of 
R.  R.  men  living  near,  around  here  —  if  I  only  felt  just  a 
little  better  I  should  get  acquainted  with  many  of  the  men, 
which  I  could  very  easily  do  if  I  would.  I  should  much 
like  to  go  on  the  trips  so  handy  and  cheap,  right  as  you 
might  from  my  door,  to  Cape  May,  or  to  Long  Branch, 
etc.,  to  say  nothing  of  the  numerous  fine  jaunts  from 
Philadelphia  G.  R.  R.,  or  up  or  down  the  Delaware  by 
Steamboat  —  If  you  was  only  here  to  convoy  me  —  but  I 
suppose  no  one  is  to  have  every  thing  wanting  —  (Pete, 
dear  son,  there  was  $89.  coming  to  you,  of  the  money  you 
put  in  my  charge,  and  now  there  will  be  $69.  yet  due  you 
from  me  —  your  own  soap)  —  As  I  write  it  is  4*^  o'clock 
Friday  afternoon — I  am  sitting  here  alone,  in  the  2nd 
story  front  room  —  every  thing  quiet  here  —  I  received 
the  other  letter,  and  Sunday  Chronicle  —  When  you  write, 
tell  me  who  you  see,  and  everything. —  I  like  such  letters 
far  better  than  the  formal  ones  some  send  me  —  I  had  a 
visit  from  a  good,  kind-hearted,  rather  queer  old  fellow 

1 06 


LETTERS  OF  1873 

named  Ingram,  from  Philadelphia  —  he  said  he  see*  in 
the  Philadelphia  paper  I  was  laid  up  very  sick  in 
Camden  —  so  he  came  over  and  hunted  for  hours  through 
the  hot  sun,  found  me  at  last  —  he  evidently  had  thought 
I  was  keeled  up,  and  hard  up,  and  he  came  to  offer  help 
—  he  has  been  a  great  traveler,  is  English  by  birth — I 
found  him  good  company,  and  was  glad  to  see  him  —  he 
has  been  twice  —  so  you  see  there  are  good  souls  left — 
Pete,  when  you  see  Judge  Fisher  tell  him  I  shall  yet  be 
back  all  right  one  of  these  days,  and  in  the  mean  time 
tell  him  I  send  him  my  love  —  also  my  love  to  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Nash  the  next  time  you  go  there —  So  good  bye  for 
the  present,  my  darling  son,  and  you  must  keep  good 
heart,  for  I  do,  though  it  is  pretty  glum  around  and  over 
me  sometimes.  WALT. 

IX 

Camden,  August  22  [1873].  DEAR  SON.  I  received 
your  letter  of  last  Saturday  and  Sunday  —  and  was  inter 
ested  in  reading  all  the  particulars  you  wrote  about  the 
R.  R.  etc.,  and  the  young  man,  your  friend  the  fireman  — 
poor  fellow,  it  was  indeed  a  sad  fate  —  There  has  been 
great  washing  away  and  trouble  with  R.  R.  tracks  here 
about  too  —  for  myself  I  never  remember  an  August  with 
so  much  rain  —  Write  to  me  whether  your  road  has 
repaired  damages,  and  is  running  through  again  —  also 
everything  you  think  of  and  see  about  people  and  Wash- 
*Soin  MSS. 
107 


CALAMUS 

ington,  etc.,  that  would  interest  me  —  as  1  live  a  very 
quiet  life  here.  I  am  still  about  the  same  as  when  I  last 
wrote  —  am  no  worse  and  not  much  better  —  though  I 
perceive  my  general  strength  is  at  least  as  good  as  any 
time  since  I  have  been  sick — my  head  still  troubles  me 
with  pain  and  distress  a  good  deal  of  the  time  —  I  hobble 
out  a  little  every  day  when  not  prevented  by  the  rain  — 
and  console  myself  with  thinking  that  everything  with 
me  might  be  a  great  deal  worse  —  I  can  put  up  with  all 
but  the  death  of  my  mother  —  that  is  my  great  sorrow 
that  sticks  —  affects  me  just  as  much  now,  or  more,  than 
at  the  time.  Have  you  seen  Mr.  Eldridge  since  his 
return  to  Washington  ?  —  Have  you  seen  anything  of  Mr. 
O'Connor  ?  —  (  You  know  he  is  now  Chief  Clerk  of  the 
Light  House  Board  )  —  You  must  have  had  a  sweet  time 
with  Dr.  Duncan  and  Dr.  Blake,  (  though  I  must  confess 
I  rather  like  the  latter,  —  I  suspect  he  has  some  real  good 
points  )  —  sometimes  when  one  has  plenty  of  time,  I  think 
it  very  good,  for  a  change,  to  let  such  fellows  buzz  you  to 
their  heart's  content,  when  you  fall  in  with  them  —  think 
of  them  as  acting  a  part  for  your  amusement  —  how  well 
they  do  it  —  if  they  could  only  do  it  on  the  stage,  it  would 
make  their  fortune  —  So  Mr.  Tasistro  still  lives  —  he 
deserves  great  credit  for  his  perseverance  and  vitality  — 
I  hope  he  will  come  to  the  top  of  the  heap  yet —  I  cut  out 
the  piece  below  from  a  Philadelphia  paper,  thinking  it 
might  interest  you  —  As  I  sit  here  in  my  arm  chair,  fin 
ishing  this,  it  is  3  o'clock  Friday  afternoon,  it  clouds  up 

1 08 


LETTERS  OF  1873 

again  as  if  for  rain,  we  had  a  shower  last  night  —  it  was 
quite  cool,  but  has  been  pretty  warm  here  for  two  days, 
and  is  now  —  I  am  feeling  as  if  I  would  and  should  come 
out  all  right  yet  —  had  a  nice  dinner  —  Pete,  dear  son, 
send  me  the  Sunday  Herald  Aug.  24. —  don't  forget  — 
So  long,  dear  son.  WALT. 


Camden,  Thursday  evening,  [Aug.  28,  1873].  PETE, 
DEAR  SON.  I  am  not  sinking  nor  getting  worse  —  I  have 
had  some  very  bad  times,  and  have  some  pretty  bad  ones 
yet,  mostly  with  my  head  —  and  my  leg  is  about  as  use 
less  as  ever  —  still  I  am  decidedly  no  worse,  and  I  think 
now  I  am  even  getting  better — it  is  slow  and  with  great 
alternations  —  but  I  have  the  feeling  of  getting  more 
strength,  and  easier  in  the  head  —  something  like  what  I 
was  before  Mother's  death  —  I  cannot  be  reconciled  to 
that  yet  —  it  is  the  great  cloud  of  my  life  —  nothing  that 
ever  happened  before  has  had  such  an  effect  on  me  — 
but  I  shall  get  well,  yet,  dear  son,  probably,  (  of  course 
not  certainly  )  and  be  back  in  Washington  this  fall,  and 
we  will  be  together  again.  I  think  I  am  now  about  as  I 
was  the  day  you  came  down  to  Baltimore  Depot  with  me 
—  2  oth  May,  I  think.  Friday  after  dinner.  I  have 
thought  of  you  the  nights  of  this  week,  the  heaviest  rains 
here  almost  ever  known,  great  trouble  and  loss  to  rail 
roads  —  was  you  in  any  tight  spot  ?  —  that  described  in 
your  last  made  me  feel  a  little  nervous  —  That  was  a  fear- 
lop 


CALAMUS 

ful  disaster  of  the  Wawasset  —  sad  beyond  description  — 
So  Tasistro  is  around  yet — The  Chronicle  came — Mr. 
Kldridge  has  returned  to  Washington  from  his  month's 
leave  —  he  stopped  here  and  paid  me  a  3  or  4  hour's  visit 

—  John  Burroughs  has  an  article  in  the  Sept.   number  of 
Scribner's  Magazine,  just  out,  in   which  I    am  extracted 
from  —  Pete,  it  is  now  towards  3,  and  I  am  going  to  try 
to  get  down  to  the  Ferry  boat,  and  cross  to  Philadelphia 

—  so  you  see  I  am  not  altogether   disabled  —  but   it   is 
awful  tough  work  —  when  the  weather  is  cooler,  (which 
will  be  soon  )  I  shall  be  better  off  in  Washington,  as  it  is 
very  lonesome  to  me  here,  and  no  one  to   convoy  me  — 
I  shall  return  there  —  I  want  to  get  a  couple  of  unfur 
nished  rooms,  or  top  floor,  somewhere   on  or   near  the 
car  route  —  Pete,  if  you  see  Charley  Toner  give  him  my 
love,  and  ask  him  to  give  you  his  address  to  send  me  — 
He  works  in  the  Printing  Bureau  (  M'Cartee's)  Treasury. 
Goodbye,  my  dear  loving  boy.     WALT. 

XI 

Camden,  Friday  noon,  Sept.  5  [1873].  DEAR  BOY  PETE. 
Your  letter,  with  cheering  wishes  and  prophecies,  came 
last  Tuesday,  God  bless  you,  boy, —  for  all  such  things 
help  much  —  I  had  a  bad  spell  this  morning — have 
something  of  the  kind  pretty  often  —  still  it  seems  certain 
I  am  improving,  generally, —  and  that  my  general  strength 
is  better,  I  am  not  near  as  bad  as  I  was  five  weeks 

no 


LETTERS  OF   1873 

ago —  have  some  hours  in  which  1  feel  quite  like  myself 
again  —  keep  up  good  heart  nearly  all  the  time  —  and 
you  must  too,  dear  son.  So  I  see  Beau  Hickman  *  has 
died  of  a  stroke  of  paralysis  —  in  the  paper  this  morning  I 
see  a  piece  about  his  body  being  resurrected  from  Potter's 
field.  Pete,  I  see  a  collision  of  some  trains  on  the  B.  & 
P.  road  reported  in  the  tunnel  at  Baltimore  yesterday 
morning  early  in  which  a  brakeman  named  Hankinson 
was  instantly  killed  —  I  was  over  to  Philadelphia  yester 
day  —  there  is  a  large  reading  room,  the  Mercantile 
Library,  loth  St.  where  I  go  occasionally  —  it  is  quite 
handy  —  they  have  all  the  papers  from  everywhere  —  have 
the  Washington  Chronicle,  Capital,  etc.  Then  I  took  a 
ride  in  the  Market  St.  cars,  and  was  caught  in  a  violent 
rain  at  ^  past  7  coming  home  —  the  moment  I  got  home 
it  stopt,  and  cleared  off  a  beautiful  moonlit  night.  It  is 
clear  and  pretty  hot  here  to-day  —  I  am  sitting  here  in 
the  front  room,  in  the  same  big  old  mahogany  chair  I 
gave  mother  20  years  ago,  by  the  open  window  writing 
this  —  I  am  feeling  better  since  breakfast.  Pete,  the 
papers  you  sent  came  last  Monday  all  right  —  I  have 
received  a  letter  from  Chas.  Eldridge  —  and  another 
from  Walter  Godey,  the  young  man  who  is  working  for 

* "  Beau  "  Hickman  was  a  familiar  character  in  Washington,  a 
decayed  dandy,  who  made  periodical  visits  through  the  Capitol  and 
the  Departments,  picking  up  a  living  from  the  contributions  of  con 
gressmen  and  government  officials,  many  of  whom  were  his  regular 
patrons. 

Ill 


CALAMUS 

me  as  my  substitute  in  the  office  —  all  was  going  on  well 
in  the  office  —  I  send  a  couple  of  papers  to-day  —  noth 
ing  particular  —  send  the  Herald.  Did  I  tell  you  that  a 
doctor  I  have  talked  with  here  says  my  real  disease  is 
the  brain  not  being  properly  furnished  and  nourished  with 
blood?  — (it  is  a  disease  the  doctors  call  cerebral  anaemia) 
—  the  doctor  says  it  has  been  long  a  coming,  and  will  be 
long  a  going  —  says  I  will  get  over  it  though  —  says  the 
paralysis  comes  from  that,  and  that  it  (the  paralysis)  is 
not  very  formidable  —  I  am  following  Dr.  Drinkard's 
advice,  taking  no  medicine,  living  very  carefully.  WALT. 


XII 

Camden,  Friday  afternoon,  Sept.  12  [1873].  DEAR  BOY 
PETE.  It  is  a  very  fine  September  day  here  —  it  must  be 
delightful  down  in  Virginia  — the  sun  shines  just  warm 
enough  and  there  is  a  slight  haze,  which  makes  it  just 
right  —  I  have  been  out  just  a  little  but  was  glad  to  get 
back  —  I  am  feeling  tolerable,  but  my  leg  still  gives  out 
in  a  few  minutes'  walk  —  I  have  had  two  or  three  quite 
good  spells  this  week,  sufficient  to  arouse  my  hopes,  but 
am  in  a  pretty  bad  way  yet  —  however,  I  am  not  without 
some  pretty  steady  small  expectations,  if  not  great  ones. 
I  am  enough  better  to  be  perceptible,  and  to  make  me  in 
hopes  of  being  better  still — (but  I  have  so  many  times 
got  a  little  better,  only  to  fall  back  again  as  bad  as  ever, 
or  worse)  — I  have  just  had  my  dinner,  nice  beefsteak, 

112 


LETTERS  OF  1873 

potatoes,  etc.  My  appetite  still  holds  out  —  and  my 
sister  cooks  very  nice,  gets  me  what  I  want.  — Pete,  your 
letter  of  Sept.  i,  came  safe  —  also  the  Herald  and  Repub 
lican  — I  send  you  Philadelphia  papers.  My  brother  Jeff 
has  been  on  here  this  week  from  St.  Louis — got  in  a  car 
in  St.  Louis,  6  Saturday  evening,  week  ago,  took  off  his 
boots  for  easy  shoes,  and  (  sleeping,  he  says,  very  well 
and  sound  in  his  bed  on  the  car, )  had  his  meals  regular 
and  got  in  here  at  Philadelphia  about  9  o'clock  Monday 
morning,  in  the  same  car,  (  which  went  on  to  New  York) 
—  He  is  now  out  on  a  good  yacht  excursion,  from  N.  Y. 
out  in  the  sound  and  sea,  for  a  week  —  quite  a  voyage  — 
He  only  stopped  here  3  or  4  hours  —  but  is  to  return  last 
of  the  month  —  both  my  brothers  are  stout  and  hearty, 
and  full  of  business,  and  interested  in  it  thoroughly  —  and 
doing  well.  I  hear  quite  often  from  John  Burroughs  — 
he  has  bought  a  spot  of  land,  right  on  the  Hudson  river, 
about  80  miles  from  N.  Y.  and  is  building  himself  a  house 
there,  right  on  a  steep  bank  with  the  road  on  one  side, 
and  the  river  on  the  other  (  but  sufficient  space  between  ) 
a  2  y2  story  stone  house  — I  have  heard  from  Charley 
Towner  —  I  got  a  very  nice  letter  from  him  Thursday  — 
he  said  you  met  him  Tuesday  and  told  him  —  A  long 
while  ago,  I  wanted  to  get  a  house  in  conjunction  with 
Charley  and  his  family  —  where  I  could  have  a  couple  of 
rooms,  and  they  could  see  to  them  —  and  that  was  one 
thing  I  wanted  to  write  to  him  about,  to  see  if  we  could 
do  it  now  —  but  he  tells  me  his  wife  is  quite  sick  —  I 


CALAMUS 

quite  pricked  up  my  ears  to  read  the  short  interview 
between  Mr.  Dubarry  and  you,  and  what  he  said  about 
the  schedule,  etc.  —  I  see  you  are  a  little  nervous,  Pete  — 
and  I  don't  wonder,  nor  blame  you  —  Still  the  true  point 
to  attain  is  ( like  a  good  soldier,  or  officer  ),  to  keep  on 
the  alert,  to  do  one's  duty  fully,  without  fail  —  and  leave 
the  rest  to  God  Almighty.  I  was  reading  the  paper  here 
this  morning,  and  I  see  a  list  of  some  new  inventions 
said  to  work  first  rate,  among  the  rest  this  *  for  car  coup 
ling —  I  wonder  if  there  is  anything  in  it — It  is  awful 
the  way  men  are  slaughtered  of  late  years  on  the  trains 
—  there  must  be  three  or  four  hundred  every  year,  take 
the  country  through —  and  the  papers  put  'em  in  in  items 
of  three  or  four  lines,  down  somewhere  out  of  the  way  — 
such  a  thing  as  the  killing  of  that  young  man  Harkinson, 
in  the  Baltimore  tunnel,  a  grand  magnificent  young  man, 
no  doubt  —  (  while  half  the  papers  in  the  land  have  had 
long  obituaries  and  notices  of  the  death  of  that  rotten 
old  apple,  Beau  Hickman  f  ).  Well,  son,  I  have  made  out 
quite  a  letter  for  you  this  time  —  My  brother  and  I  have 
been  talking  about  the  balloon  splurge  in  New  York  — 
my  brother  is  quite  a  balloonist,  in  his  belief  - —  believes 
that  something  will  yet  come  of  it  —  I  see  they  advertise 
to  go  yet,  perhaps  this  afternoon  —  but  it  is  a  wild  under- 

*  Referring  to  a  short  newspaper  article  on  "  A  New  Car  Coupler  " 
which  he  pastes  in  his  letter. 
t  See  note  on  page  in. 

114 


LETTERS  OF  1873 

taking — (perhaps  an  advertising  humbug  )  anyhow.  I 
shall  still  remain  here  for  the  present  —  everything  seems 
to  be  going  on  smooth  in  the  office  at  my  desk,  from  what 
I  hear  from  my  substitute — He  writes  me  now  and  then* 
does  my  work  very  well,  and  more  work  besides,  —  Dear 
Pete,  I  am  much  in  hopes  I  shall  be  able  to  send 
some  news  before  long  about  my  improvement  for  good 
—  and  something  definite  about  my  coming  back  to 
Washington  —  So  long,  dear  son  —  you  must  try  to  keep 
up  a  gay  heart  and  let  the  world  wag  on  as  it  may. 
WALT. 

XIII 

Camden,  Friday  afternoon,  Sept.  19  [1873].  DEAR  BOY 
PETE.  Your  letter  came  all  right  last  Tuesday.  I  still 
keep  the  same  —  no  worse,  and  no  better.  It  is  the  same 
old  story.  I  have  a  great  deal  of  pain  in  my  head  yet  — 
no  let  up.  Dear  son,  I  would  like  to  write  you  a  good 
long  amusing  letter  —  but  I  cannot  to-day.  We  have  had 
a  rainy  night  and  forenoon  —  but  as  I  write  the  sun  is 
shining  out  again — and  I  must  get  out  and  drag  myself 
around  a  little  for  a  change.  Farewell,  my  loving  son, 
till  next  time.  WALT.  I  send  a  small  bundle  of  papers. 


XIV 

Camden,  Friday  noon,  zbth  Sept.   [1873].      DEAR  SON 
PETE.     Your  letter  of  yesterday  came  this  forenoon  — 


CALAMUS 

that  was  a  rather  serious  runaway  of  cars  in  the  tunnel  a 
week  ago — and  mighty  lucky  to  get  off  as  you  all  did  — 
Pete,  I  got  a  few  lines  from  Parker  Milburn  —  he  told  me 
you  had  a  very  bad  sore  on  a  finger  of  right  hand  —  they 
are  plaguey  bad  things  —  I  am  in  hopes  yours  will  partly 
make  up  in  giving  you  a  little  resting  spell.  I  sent  you 
"the  Children  of  the  Abbey,"  an  old  novel  that  used  to 
be  all  the  rage  —  did  you  get  it  ?  To-day  here  is  a  great 
turn  out  and  dedication  of  the  Masonic  Temple  in  Phila 
delphia — -it  is  truly  a  handsome  and  noble  building.  A 
rain  last  night  here,  and  to-day  is  really  perfect.  The 
Camden  Free  Masons  marched  by  here  this  morning, 
about  250,  the  finest  collection  of  men  I  thought  I  ever 
saw,  but  poor  music,  all  brass,  a  lot  of  fat  young  Dutch 
men  blowing  as  if  they  would  burst,  and  making  a  hell  of  a 
hullabaloo  —  Pete,  I  am  about  the  same  —  may  be  a  little 
improved  in  general  strength  —  had  bad  spells  a  good 
deal  all  the  earlier  part  of  the  week  —  some  very  bad  — 
but  feel  better  yesterday  and  to-day  —  I  am  making  some 
calculations  of  the  cool  weather  —  think  it  may  be  favor 
able  to  me  —  did  not  go  out  any  yesterday  —  shall  try  to 
get  out  this  afternoon  a  couple  of  hours — I  don't  know 
a  soul  here, —  am  entirely  alone  —  sometimes  sit  alone 
and  think,  for  two  hours  on  a  stretch  —  have  not  formed 
a  single  acquaintance  here,  any  ways  intimate  —  My 
sister-in-law  is  very  kind  in  all  housekeeping  things, 
cooks  what  I  want,  has  first  rate  coffee  for  me  and  some 
thing  nice  in  the  morning,  and  keeps  me  a  good  bed  and 

116 


LETTERS  OF  1873 

room  —  all  of  which  is  very  acceptable  —  (then,  for  a 
fellow  of  my  size,  the  friendly  presence  and  magnetism 
needed,  somehow,  is  not  here  —  I  do  not  run  foul  of 
any)*  —  still  I  generally  keep  up  very  good  heart  —  still 
think  I  shall  get  well — When  I  have  my  bad  spells  I  wait 
for  them  to  fade  out  —  I  have  got  a  letter  from  Charley 
Towner  —  I  am  finishing  this  by  the  open  window  —  still 
in  the  rooms  where  my  mother  died,  with  all  the  old 
familiar  things  —  but  all  drawing  to  a  close,  as  the  new 
house  is  done,  and  I  shall  move  on  Monday.  WALT. 


XV 

Camden,  Friday  afternoon,  Oct.  3  [1873].  DEAR  PETE, 
DEAR  SON.  I  received  your  letter  the  first  of  the  week, 
and  was  interested  in  your  account  of  your  week,  of  lay 
ing  off,  and  of  the  playing  of  the  band  under  Schneider 
and  Petrola  —  also  about  City  R.  R.  men  —  I  send  my 
love  and  best  respects  to  all  of  them  —  I  have  had  a  bad 
spell  again  this  week  —  for  three  days  I  have  had  a  suc 
cession  of  those  blurs  again  —  only  very  much  worse  than 
ever  before  —  last  night  I  slept  pretty  well,  and  haven't 
had  any  of  them  yet,  to-day,  but  my  head  feels  sore  and 
ready  to  have  them,  almost  if  I  move  across  the  room  — 
I  am  sitting  here,  feeling  pretty  bad,  my  head  unsettled 
and  dizzy  —  I  don't  go  out  any  more  —  but  am  up  and 

*A  nautical  term="run  up  against." 
117 


CALAMUS 

dressed  —  Still  Pete,  I  do  not  get  discouraged  but  think 
it  will  pass  over,  and  I  shall  feel  better,  and  strong 
enough  to  come  back  to  Washington.  Still  I  don't  know, 
I  think  it  best  to  face  my  situation  —  it  is  pretty  serious. 
I  send  you  a  card  —  and  if  I  should  get  bad,  I  will  cer 
tainly  send  you  word,  or  telegraph  —  I  will  write  Monday 
or  Tuesday  next  —  We  have  moved  into  my  brother's 
new  house  —  I  am  up  in  the  3rd  story  room,  fronting 
south  —  the  sun  is  shining  in  bright  —  it  is  beautiful 
October  weather  here — My  brother  had  a  large  room, 
very  handsome,  on  second  floor,  with  large  bay  window 
fronting  west,  built  for  me,  but  I  moved  up  here  instead, 
it  is  much  more  retired,  and  has  the  sun  —  I  am  very  com 
fortable  here  indeed,  but  my  heart  is  blank  and  lonesome 
utterly.  1 1  o'clock  A.  M.  sitting  by  the  window  ist  floor, 
I  have  just  been  talking  with  a  ypung  married  R.  R.  man, 
Thomas  Osier,  I  fell  in  with  —  he  has  a  bad  bone- 
gathering  on  his  left  hand,  a  sort  of  felon,  suffered 
greatly  with  it  5  days  and  nights  —  had  it  lanced  yester 
day,  and  is  better — he  stood  by  the  open  window  ist 
floor,  and  talked  with  me,  while  I  sat  in  an  arm-chair 
inside  —  he  is  a  regular  R.  R.  man  —  you  could  tell  by 
the  cut  of  his  jib,  low  collar,  cap,  clean  shirt  (for  holi 
day)  dark  complexion,  and  hard  dark  hands,  I  took  quite 
a  fancy  to  him  and,  of  course >  I  suppose  he  did  to  me  —  I 
believe  he  works  on  the  locomotive  —  Pete,  you  must  tell 
me  how  you  put  in  the  past  week  —  I  like  such  a  letter 
as  your  last  one  —  written  two  or  three  different  times  — 
1  118 


LETTERS  OF  1873 

It  gave  me  a  good  idea  of  what  you  are  doing —  and  also 
of  how  things  look  in  Washington  —  I  have  written  a  line 
to  Col.  Hinton  and  shall  write  a  line  to  Eldridge. 

3  o'clock  P.  M.  My  head  is  feeling  very  sore  and 
touchy  and  sensitive  —  I  don't  go  out —  I  have  re-written 
my  will  —  What  little  I  have  to  leave  I  have  left  mainly 
to  my  lame  brother  Ed.,  poor  man  —  Pete,  I  have  left  you 
$200.  and  my  gold  watch  —  (but  it  will  be  much  better 
for  us  to  spend  the  money  together,  and  I  have  no  doubt 
we  shall  do  so).  This  house  is  quite  pleasant  —  it  is  on 
the  corner  —  fronts  south  —  side  to  west  —  plenty  of 
light  and  air  and  view  —  This  afternoon  I  am  quite  in 
hopes  I  am  getting  better  of  my  spells  to-day,  as  I  have 
not  had  any  actual  spells  though  I  have  felt  pretty  sick 
all  day.  But  I  have  been  up  all  day,  and  eat  quite  a 
bite  for  dinner  —  Pete,  I  have  written  plainly,  because  I 
want  you  to  be  prepared  if  anything  should  happen  to 
me  —  but  I  tell  you  honest,  I  still  think  I  shall  pull 
through  —  and  that  I  shall  be  able  to  write  better  news 
early  next  week  —  don't  you  be  alarmed  yet.  WALT. 


XVI 

43 1  Stevens  St.  cor.  West,  Camden,  N.  J.  Thursday  noon, 
Oct.  9  [1873].  DEAR  SON.  Your  letter  of  8th,  came 
this  morning  —  you  did  perfectly  right  —  I  believe  you 
are  the  greatest  comfort  I  have,  and  if  I  get  well  our  love 
and  attachment  will  be  closer  than  ever.  As  I  write  it 

119 


CALAMUS 

is  about  noon,  and  I  am  sitting  up  in  my  room,  with  a 
window  open  and  the  bright  sun  streaming  in.  I  have 
confused  spells  of  the  head,  and  have  just  had  one,  last 
ing  about  20  minutes —  they  are  not  so  bad  and  pros 
trating  as  those  of  last  week  —  I  have  to  just  sit  still  and 
wait  till  they  pass  over.  I  eat  my  breakfast  with  relish 
this  morning,  salmon,  graham  bread  and  coffee,  etc. 
But  did  not  rest  well  last  night.  John  Burroughs  has 
been  to  see  me, —  staid  a  day  and  night  —  he  has  settled 
up  and  sold  out  in  Washington  and  left —  He  is  building 
a  home  on  the  Hudson  river,  75  miles  from  N.  Y.  —  has 
10  acres  of  land  on  west  side  of  river.  I  am  feeling 
quite  bad  to-day  about  a  13  year  old  boy,  Rob  Evans,  I 
know  here,  next  door  but  one  —  he  has  had  his  eye  very 
badly  hurt,  I  fear  it  is  put  out,  the  doctor  has  given  it  up 
—  by  an  arrow  yesterday,  the  boys  playing  —  I  thought 
quite  a  good  deal  of  him,  he  would  do  anything  for  me  — 
his  father  was  French,  and  is  dead  —  the  boy  suffers  very 
much  —  and  the  misfortune  is  a  very,  very  sad  one.  It 
is  now  ^  after  12  —  and  everything  looks  so  sunny  and 
inviting  out,  I  am  going  to  try  to  get  out  on  the  walk  for 
a  few  minutes  —  but  I  don't  navigate  as  well  as  I  did 
before  I  left  Washington.  Friday  afternoon,  %  past  2 . 
Another  beautiful  day  —  I  enjoy  it,  but  cannot  go  around 
in  it  —  I  went  out  yesterday,  not  far  but  was  badly  over 
come  before  I  got  back.  At  present  my  head  cannot 
stand  anything.  Still,  to-day  I  am  feeling  rather  better 
than  usual  I  have  eaten  my  dinner  —  beefsteak  and 

1 20 


LETTERS  OF  1873 

potatoes,  with  pumpkin  pie  and  a  cup  of  tea  —  I  eat  very 
moderately  but  with  quite  a  relish.  Dear  Pete,  serious 
as  these  spells  are,  (  and  seems  as  if  they  will  continue 
to  come  on, )  I  still  have  abiding  hopes  and  trust  of  my 
recovery  yet  —  though  I  don't  want  to  be  too  confident, 
and  wanted  you  to  be  prepared  for  whatever  might  hap 
pen.  I  shall  write  a  line  to-day  to  Charles  Eldridge  —  I 
am  glad  you  have  got  some  acquainted  with  him  —  I 
know  him  thoroughly  —  he  is  a  thoroughly  good  and  true 
man  —  has  some  ways  and  notions  of  his  own,  but  the 
main  things  are  as  solid  as  the  hills —  Hinton  too  is  a  real 
good,  kind  man  —  Now,  dear  son,  don't  worry  about  me 
—  I  think  in  all  probability  we  shall  yet  be  together  and 
that  I  shall  come  round  to  be  wholly  or  partially  better  — 
but  whichever  way  it  goes  with  me,  it  will  be  all  right  — 
your  latest  two  letters  have  been  first  rate  —  I  read  the 
one  before  the  last,  many  times,  —  it  is  very  dear  to  me. 
WALT. 

XVII 

431  Stevens  St.  cor.  West,  Camden,  Oct.  16  [1873],  2 /.  m. 
Thursday.  DEAR  SON.  I  sent  you  a  postal  card  yesterday 
that  the  bundle  had  come  all  right,  with  the  right  things 
I  wanted.  My  condition  is  still  what  may  be  called  fav 
orable  —  that  is  I  still  keep  up  without  having  any  of 
those  decidedly  bad  spells — blurs,  as  I  call  them,  of  a 
while  ago  —  and  in  general  I  feel  as  well  and  as  strong 
(  such  as  it  all  was )  as  before  I  was  taken  with  those 

121 


CALAMUS 

spells.  I  go  out  again  a  little.  Pete,  I  told  you  about  a 
young  railroad  man,  Tom  Osier,  26  years  old,  that  I  met 
occasionally  and  talked  with,  that  had  a  felon  on  his 
hand  —  I  took  quite  a  fancy  to  him  and  he  to  me  —  Well, 
he  is  dead,  killed  instantly  —  (I  have  marked  the  piece 
in  the  paper  already  sent)  —  I  went  around  yesterday  to 
where  he  lived,  it  is  near  here,  he  was  married,  leaves  a 
young  widow,  and  a  nice  little  two  year  old  boy  —  I  saw 
them  —  his  body  broken  and  scalded,  lay  in  the  front 
room.  Whenever  you  have  the  Star  or  Republican,  once 
in  a  while  you  can  send  them  (you  can  send  two  for  a 
i  c.  stamp  )  I  don't  mind  their  being  a  little  old  —  I  see 
the  Chronicle  and  Capital  at  the  reading  room  —  I  am  feel- 
ing  full  as  well  as  usual  to-day,  and  think  of  going  out 
and  across  the  ferry  —  it  is  so  pleasant  this  afternoon. 
Friday  afternoon  —  I  went  out  yesterday  afternoon  — 
across  to  Philadelphia,  and  up  to  the  Mercantile  Library 
Reading  Room,  I  have  spoken  of.  Yesterday,  and  yes 
terday  evening  I  felt  better  than  usual  —  but  am  not  so 
well  to-day  —  the  worst  of  my  case  is  these  fall  backs  — 
But  I  have  been  out  a  little  to-day.  My  walking  does 
not  improve  any  at  all.  ( Then  to  make  things  more 
cheerful,  there  are  many  deaths  here  about  from  paralysis.) 
I  quite  miss  poor  Tom  Osier.  I  am  in  the  habit  of  sit 
ting  of  the  forenoon  *  by  the  first  floor  window,  reading 
the  papers*  and  Tom  would  often  stop  a  few  minutes  and 
talk  to  me  at  the  window,  on  his  way  to  and  from  the 

*  So  in  MSS. 

122 


LETTERS  OF  1873 

depot  —  He  would  never  come  in  the  house,  but  seemed 
to  like  to  stop  and  talk  that  way  with  me.  My  boy  that 
had  his  eye  hurt  is  doing  rather  badly  too.  About  my 
self,  my  general  strength  not  only  holds  out,  but  I  think 
rather  improves,  which  helps  a  good  deal.  Your  postal 
card  came — also  a  letter  from  Eldridge  enclosing  the 
key.  Good  bye  for  this  time,  my  loving  boy.  WALT. 

XVIII 

431  Stevens  St.  cor.  West,  Camden,  N.J.,  Oct.  24  [1873], 
Friday  afternoon.  DEAR  SON  PETE.  I  am  still  doing  as 
well  as  when  I  last  wrote  —  I  have  many  alterna 
tions,  but  upon  the  whole  I  have  no  reason  to  com 
plain  of  the  last  ten  days.  My  head  has  some  bad  spells, 
and  a  touch  or  more  nearly  every  day,  and  my  locomotion 
is  still  as  clumsy  as  ever  —  but  for  all  that  I  am  happy 
in  not  having  any  of  those  spasms  of  three  weeks  since, 
and  indeed  I  have  glimpses  again  of  my  real  self  —  have 
had  two  or  three  such,  of  an  hour  or  two  each  — which  I 
felt  very  encouraging.  Your  letter  came  Tuesday,  and  I 
wrote  you  a  few  lines  on  a  postal  card,  which  I  suppose 
you  received  next  day.  I  went  to  Tommy  Osier's,  the 
young  R.  R.  man's,  funeral  last  Sunday  —  it  was  near 
here  — poor  fellow,  he  used  always  to  stop  a  minute  at 
the  window  and  talk  off-hand  and  cheerful  —  Pete,  he 
often  made  me  think  of  you,  dear  son  —  he  was 
your  age  and  size  —  he  was  an  only  son.  I  go 

123 


CALAMUS 

out  now  about  every  day,  my  strength  is  certainly 
improving  —  shall  go  out  this  afternoon.  About  one 
hour  ago  the  big  Adams  Express  wagon  drove  up  to  the 
door,  with  a  box  for  me  —  it  was  2  doz  2  Ib.  cans  of 
fresh  Oregon  salmon  from  St.  Louis,  from  my  brother 
Jeff  —  I  am  very  fond  of  it  for  breakfast,  can  eat  it  every 
day —  (my  appetite  is  pretty  fair,  but  I  must  have  just 
the  things  I  want,  can't  eat  any  others)  —  Pete,  your 
description  of  the  old  Evangelical  alliances  fellows,  as  if 
they  had  just  walked  out  of  Noah's  ark,  made  me  laugh 
heartily  —  you  just  hit  it  —  I  have  just  got  a  long  letter 
from  Mrs.  O'Connor  —  she  is  in  Massachusetts — returns 
to  Washington  in  November  —  How  are  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Nash,  and  Ed,  and  all  ?  —  give  them  my  love  —  tell  Ed.  I 
shall  yet  want  him  to  build  me  that  small  house — I  send 
my  love  to  Wash  Milburn  —  I  am  writing  this  up  in  my 
room,  3  o'clock,  pleasant  weather,  sun  shining,  window 
open  —  I  am  feeling  quite  fair  to-day.  Good  bye  for  this 
this  time,  my  loving  boy.  WALT. 


XIX 

431  Stevens  St.  cor.  West,  Camden,  N.J.,  Friday  after 
noon,  Oct.  31  [1873.]  DEAR  BOY  PETE.  My  condition 
remains  about  the  same  —  I  don't  get  ahead  any  to 
notice  —  but  I  hold  my  own,  as  favorable  as  I  have 
stated  in  my  late  letters,  and  am  free  yet  from  the  very 
confused  spells  of  the  head  and  spasms  of  three  weeks 

124 


LETTERS  OF  1873 

ago.  Besides  I  think  upon  the  whole,  my  general 
strength  is  the  best  it  has  been  yet  —  for  an  interval 
every  now  and  then  it  certainly  is.  All  very  encourag 
ing  —  (But  my  disease  seems  to  have  such  ups  and  downs 
I  have  learned  to  fear  to  make  calculations,  almost). 
The  weather  here  is  fine  —  cool  mornings  and  nights, 
indeed  quite  cold  at  times  —  but  the  bulk  of  the  day 
perfect  —  I  think  the  cool  weather  season  is  beneficial  to 
me.  I  am  sitting  here  writing  this  with  one  of  the  win 
dows  wide  open,  and  the  afternoon  sun  streaming  in.  I 
got  a  letter  this  morning  from  Mr.  Eldridge  that  he  had 
paid  Godey,  my  substitute,  the  money  I  sent  out  for  his 
October  pay  —  Washington  must  be  looking  pleasant  this 
fall.  Write  me  how  you  are  fixed,  and  I  like  to  hear  all 
the  particulars  about  your  work  on  the  R.  R.  Good-bye 
for  this  time,  my  loving  boy.  WALT.  It  is  now  a  little 
after  2  —  I  have  had  my  dinner,  beefsteak  and  potatoes 
—  pumpkin  pie  and  a  cup  of  tea  —  Don't  you  think  that 
is  doing  very  well  ? —  It  is  a  glorious  afternoon  and  I  am 
going  down  to  take  a  trip  once  or  twice  across  the  Dela 
ware  in  the  ferry  boat.  It  makes  a  pleasant  little  trip,  as 
the  river  here  is  most  as  wide  as  the  Potomac  from  yth 
St.  wharf  —  has  two  little  islands  in  the  middle,  which 
sometimes  we  steer  between,  and  sometimes  go  round  — 
Then  these  nights ,  Pete  —  last  night  I  was  out,  came  home 
about  8  —  the  moon  shining  bright  as  silver  —  I  thought 
of  our  old  walks,  dear  son. 


125 


CALAMUS 

XX 

431  Stevens  St.  cor.  West,  Camden,  JV.  Jersey,  Sunday  after 
noon,  Nov.  9  [1873].  DEAR  SON  PETE.  By  accident  your 
usual  letter  was  not  sent  to  P.  O.  so  that  you  could  get  it 
Saturday  —  which  may  have  made  you  some  uneasy  — 
but  you  need  not  be,  as  I  still  continue  to  hold  my  own, 
full  as  good  as  at  previous  advices  —  I  still  remain  clear 
of  any  of  those  real  bad  spells  of  the  head. —  I  cannot 
walk  any  better  yet  —  but  otherwise  am  getting  along 
very  favorably  —  I  received  your  postal  card  acknowledg 
ing  the*  10.  I  get  out  every  fair  day —  shall  go  out 
about  4  to  visit  a  family  here,  Col.  Johnston,  the  jolliest 
man  I  ever  met,  an  artist,  a  great  talker,  but  real,  natural 
first-rate  off-hand  cheerfulness  and  comical-sensible  talk, 
a  man  of  good  information  too,  travelled  in  Europe  —  an 
hour  or  two  does  me  real  good  —  he  has  a  wife,  daughter 
and  son,  all  good  — I  go  Sunday  evenings  to  tea  — Pete, 
I  send  you  a  paper  with  a  piece  in  about  Richmond 
affairs,  manufactures,  etc.,  I  thought  you  might  like  to 
look  over —  Here  there  is  great  talk  of  the  proposed 
Centennial  Exposition  —  I  will  send  you  pictures  of  the 
buildings  soon.  I  am  sitting  here  in  my  room  3rd  story 
—  We  have  had  quite  a  storm — but  at  present  the  sun 
shines  out,  by  spells  —  I  am  feeling  quite  comfortable  — 
I  would  almost  think  of  coming  back  to  Washington  — 
but  have  learned  not  to  make  calculations  too  soon  or  too 

*The  $  omitted  in  MSS. 
126 


LETTERS  OF  1873 

sanguine — so  I  shall  remain  here  for  the  present  —  If 
you  see  Col.  Hinton  tell  him  I  am  getting  along  favor 
ably —  tell  him  Mr.  Linton,  the  artist,  has  lately  called 
upon  me  —  tell  Hinton  to  be  sure  and  come  and  call  on 
me,  should  he  come  to  Philadelphia  —  Tell  Wash  Mil- 
burn,  and  Parker  also,  I  send  them  my  love,  and  that  I 
shall  be  back  to  Washington  this  winter  —  tell  Parker  I 
was  sorry  to  hear  of  his  illness  —  As  I  write  the  wind  is 
crooning  and  whistling  around  the  house  at  a  great  rate 
—  it  is  a  music  though  I  like  to  hear  —  That  is  a  bad 
business,  the  shooting  of  Ryan  and  the  three  good  fel 
lows,  in  Cuba  —  the  Spaniards  will  probably  just  keep  on 
at  their  bloody  tricks  till  the  U.  S.  (and  perhaps  England) 
steps  in  and  kicks  them  out  of  Cuba  —  which  in  my 
opinion  ought  to  be  done  without  delay—  I  suppose  you 
knew  Ryan  by  sight,  he  was  around  Washington  so  much 
— Well,  good  bye  for  this  time,  dear  loving  boy.  WALT. 


XXI 

43 1  Stevens  St.  cor  West,  Camden,  Friday  afternoon,  Nov. 
14  [1873].  DEAR  PETE,  DEAR  SON.  I  am  sitting  here  in 
my  room  again  writing  to  you  —  there  is  no  particular 
change  in  the  situation  —  we  are  having  some  pretty  cold 
weather  here  —  I  go  out  a  little  every  day,  but  my  walk 
ing  does  not  improve  any  —  I  had  a  partially  bad  spell 
yesterday  afternoon,  and  did  not  go  out,  but  it  passed 
over,  and  to-day  I  feel  as  well  as  I  usually  have  lately  — 

127 


CALAMUS 

I  shall  get  out  this  afternoon,  and  over  to  the  Reading 
Room  in  Philadelphia  —  (Looking  over  the  papers,  I  see 
occasionally  very  interesting  news  about  myself  —  a  paper 
in  Salt  Lake,  Utah,  had  me  dead  —  and  the  Philadelphia 
Item,  about  the  same  time  had  me  at  a  public  dinner,  in 
Philadelphia,  making  a  speech  ).  I  received  your  last.  I 
suppose  you  got  mine  last  Tuesday  —  I  have  just  had  my 
dinner,  bean  soup,  boiled  beef,  and  pumpkin  pie,  all  good 
—  so  you  see  I  might  be  doing  worse  —  It  is  now  just 
after  2,  and  I  am  feeling  quite  comfortable  —  and  hope 
this  will  find  you  all  right,  my  loving  boy  —  WALT. 

XXII 

43 1  Stevens  St.  cor.  West,  Camden,  N. ./.,  Friday  afternoon, 
Nov.  21  [1873].  DEAR  SON  PETE.  Nothing  very  new  with 
me — I  continue  about  the  same — my  general  strength 
the  best  it  has  been  yet  —  I  go  out  a  little  most  every 
day,  but  it  is  very  cold  weather  here  —  I  was  quite  non- 
plus'd  at  that  affair  in  Bergazzi's  with  Frank  Rives  —  who 
is  he  ?  Is  he  some  one  I  know  ?  —  was  he  drunk  or  loony  ? 
tell  me  more  of  it  —  what  he  said  —  the  exact  words  —  It 
seems  unaccountable  to  me  —  from  what  I  gather  from 
your  letter  you  did  exactly  right.  If  I  hadn't  met  with 
some  queer  characters  myself  —  and  been  the  subject  of 
such  strange  and  unaccountable  remarks  —  I  should 
hardly  think  anything  of  the  sort  possible.  —  I  have  occu 
pied  myself  lately  writing  —  have  sent  a  letter  to  the 

128 


" 


LETTERS  OF  1873 

Graphic  describing  the  Capitol,  which  they  have  accepted, 
and  may  publish  Saturday  or  Monday.  Have  also  writ 
ten  a  poem  which  I  have  sold  —  will  send  you  one  when 
it  appears.  —  As  I  write  this  holding  the  paper  on  my  lap, 
I  am  sitting  here  in  the  parlor  by  the  heater  —  have  had 
my  dinner  —  drank  quite  a  goblet  of  wine,  which  I  believe 
has  flown  into  my  head.  (My  brother  West  and  another 
friend  here,  have  both  sent  me  presents  of  good  wine  — 
and  I  drink  it  occasionally,  half  water  —  but  this  time  I 
have  taken  a  little  extra)  —  Pete,  I  thought  I  would  send 
you  a  couple  of  shirts  —  so  I  have  ordered  them  made 
here,  got  as  near  the  measure  as  I  could  —  they  will  be 
done  in  some  ten  days,  perhaps  less,  and  then  I  will  send 
them.  I  like  mine  so  well,  I  have  had  yours  made  like 
them,  with  collars  on.  I  have  had  no  new  togs  made 
this  winter.  I  wear  my  old  gray  suit,  and  the  old  black 
overcoat —  and  when  very  cold  or  stormy  my  gray 
shawl  —  If  you  could  see  me  now  leaning  against  Mil- 
burn's  counter,  you  wouldn't  see  any  difference  from  last 
winter  —  (  but  my  heart  tells  a  different  story  )  —  I  have 
been  in  all  day,  and  must  get  out  a  little — the  evenings 
are  the  most  tedious  with  me — I  can  manage  to  put  in 
the  days,  but  these  long  cold  evenings.  I  think  if  I  only 
had  the  right  quarters  in  Washington,  my  own  quarters 
and  a  good  wood  fire,  and  you  with  me  as  often  as  possible, 
I  should  be  comparatively  happy.  WALT. 


129 


CALAMUS 

XXIII 

431  Stevens  St.  cor.  West,  Camden,  N.J.,  Friday  [Nov.] 
2S//&,  [1873]  2  p.m.  DEAR  SON  PETE.  Here  I  sit  again 
by  the  heater  in  the  parlor,  writing  my  weekly  letter  — 
I  have  just  had  my  dinner,  some  cold  turkey  and  a  glass 
of  Missouri  wine,  etc.  Had  been  out  to  the  P.  O.  some  five 
or  six  squares  distant  —  but  have  to  take  my  time  —  Am 
still  getting  along  very  satisfactorily  ( for  I  am  now  satis 
fied  with  things  not  being  very  bad  with  me  )  —  and  my 
strength  is  undoubtedly  better,  which  I  hope  will  in  time 
bring  improvement  in  my  walking,  and  in  my  head,  etc. 
etc.  —  The  letter  you  spoke  of  about  Penn.  av.  in  the 
paper  was  not  by  me  * —  In  the  Graphic  of  Tuesday  last, 
Nov.  25,  they  print  a  portrait  of  my  beautiful  phiz,  and  a 
criticism  on  my  books,  one  of  the  best  and  friendliest  I 
have  seen  yet  —  if  you  can  get  one  in  Washington  you 
will  like  it  —  if  not  you  may  see  it  at  Graphic  office  in 
Washington  —  I  have  not  received  any  —  Also  Monday's 
Nov.  24  Graphic  prints  my  letter  about  the  Capitol  — 
Your  letter  came  Tuesday  —  as  I  said  before  you  seem  to 
have  done  what  was  unavoidable  in  the  Rives  muss  — 
but  I  have  a  horror  of  bar  room  fracases  and  fights  — and 
I  know  you  have  too  —  As  a  general  thing,  I  don't  think 
it  necessary  to  resent  the  insults  of  drunkards  or  fools,— 
(  unless  there  is  something  unavoidable  in  the  case  )  — 
Did  you  get  the  Scottish  Chiefs  I  sent  ?  Good  bye,  my 

*  i.  e     Was  not  written  by  me. 
130 


LETTERS  OF  1873 

dear,  loving  boy  —  I  am  doing  quite  well  —  I  hope  this  will 
find  you  feeling  well  in  health  and  jolly  in  spirits.  WALT. 
Pete,  I  will  probably  send  the  shirts  early  next  week  by 
Express. 

XXIV 

431  Stevens  St.  cor.  West,  Camden,  Dec.  5  [1873],  after 
12  M.  DEAR  PETE.  I  am  still  holding  on  about  the 
same — it  is  pretty  certain  I  don't  get  behindhand,  and 
that's  about  the  best  I  can  say  —  continue  to  get  out  a 
little  every  day  when  the  weather  will  permit  —  but  my 
walking  power  is  still  very  bad  indeed  —  Pete,  I  sent  the 
shirts  this  morning  by  Adams  express  —  they  are  envel 
oped  in  a  flat  paper  box  about  2  feet  long  by  i  wide  — 
I  hope  they  will  get  there  Saturday  —  (but  possibly  may 
not  reach  you  till  Monday  )  —  (  you  must  pay  the  freight 
there  )  I  hope  they  will  fit — the  blue  one,  it  wasn't  done 
till  last  night,  is  to  wear  over  —  I  got  the  stuff,  it  is  first 
rate  Middlesex  flannel,  cost  $5.  (same  as  my  summer 
shirts  are  made  of  )  —  is  not  intended  to  be  washed  often 
-  but  can  be  when  necessary  —  must  then  be  washed  by 
seme  one  experienced  in  washing  nice  flannels  —  I  sent 
Graphic  with  my  portrait  —  (as  they  sent  me  some )  also 
my  Capitol  letter  —  I  received  your  good  letter  last  Tues 
day.  Dear  son,  I  send  you  $10  for  your  Christmas  pres 
ent  —  perhaps  you  will  need  a  pair  of  winter  boots,  (  or 
some  good  cotton  flannel  for  underclothes  —  or  some 
thing) —  I  received  a  good  letter  from  Mr.  Eldridge — 
Mrs.  O'Connor  was  to  come  home  last  Tuesday  —  I  sent 


CALAMUS 

a  paper  to  Parker  Milburn  with  my  portrait  —  also  to 
Charley  Towner  —  I  hope  you  carried  yours  up  to  Mr. 
Nash,  as  I  know  it  would  interest  and  amuse  him  and  Mrs. 
Nash  —  give  them  both  my  love — (I  see  just  a  line  in 
the  paper  that  Mr.  Nash  had  given  some  reminiscences  at 
a  meeting  of  the  oldest  inhabitants  )  —  I  see  the  B.  and 
P.  R.  R.  had  a  bad  freight  car  accident  last  Wednesday 
night  at  Patapsco,  but  no  injury  to  human  life  or  limb  — 
I  have  not  been  quite  so  well  in  the  head  yesterday  and 
to-day  —  but  am  around  as  usual,  as  it  is  nothing  very 
heavy  —  We  are  having  a  mild  spell  here,  this  is  the  third 
day,  with  partial  rain  and  fog  —  It  is  now  just  after  i  — 
I  am  sitting  here  writing  this  in  the  parlor  by  the  heater 
—  my  dinner  is  about  ready,  and  I  am  going  —  Every 
thing  is  very  complete  and  correct  here  —  but  O,  I  need 
your  dear  loving  face  and  hand  and  voice.  —  Your  old 
WALT. 

XXV 

431  Stevens  St.  cor.  West,  Camden,  N.J.,  Dec.  12  [1873]. 
DEAR  BOY  PETE.  I  felt  bad  enough  to  hear  of  the  death 
of  Bill  Burns  —  and  in  such  a  sudden  cruel  way,  —  poor 
young  man  —  he  has  had  a  reckless  unsatisfactory  life  — 
many  deficiencies  and  very  shiftless  —  all  of  which  I 
understood  perfectly  well — but  I  had  an  affection  for 
him  after  all  —  Have  I  not  heard  that  he  had  a  wife  and 
child  ?  which  ( if  so  )  he  has  left  —  but  was  parted  from 
quite  a  while  ago  —  Pete,  so  your  shirts  came  all  safe, 
and  they  fit  you,  do  they  ?  — good  —  The  blue  shirt  (  did 

132 


LETTERS  OF  1873 

I  write  ?)  is  to  wear  over,  loose  — it  is  made  large  for  that 
purpose  —  I  like  the  looks  of  them,  the  blue  shirt  collar 
turned  down  low  with  a  nice  black  silk  neck  handkerchief, 
tied  loose — over  a  clean  white  shirt  without  necktie  —  I 
think  they  are  very  becoming  to  young  working  men  — 
I  sent  3  Graphics  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Nash — when  you  hear, 
tell  me  if  they  came  safe  —  I  send  you  some  papers 
to-day  —  There  is  nothing  new  with  me,  or  my  condition 

—  my  principal  malady  is  about  the  same,   (no  worse)  — 
but  I  have  had  for  three  or  four  days  a  wretched  cold  in 
the  head,  sore  throat,  most  lost  my  voice  for  two  days  — 
everything  bad  enough  —  am  better  rather  to-day,  begin 
to  speak  so  I  can  be  understood  —  shall  be  all  right  soon 

—  As  I  write  it  is  now   between  1 1   and   12  a.  m.    Friday 

—  it  is  very  mild,  sunshiny  forenoon  —  I  am  sitting  here 
in  the  parlor  —  looks  south,  looks  down  a  pleasant  street, 
West  street,  full  view,  makes  quite  a  nice  view  for  me  to 
sit   and   look  out  —  the   letter  carrier  comes  around  in 
about  an  hour  from  now,  and  takes  my  letters  to  P.  O.  — 
I  have  become  sort  of  acquainted  with  most  of  the  carriers, 
ferry  men,  car  conductors  and  drivers,  etc.  etc.,  they  are 
very  good  indeed  —  help  me  on  and  off  the  cars,   here 
and  in  Philadelphia  —  they  are  nearly  all  young   fellows 

—  it  all  helps  along  —  Well  Pete,  dear  loving  boy,  I  will 
bid  you  good  bye  for  this  week.     WALT. 

XXVI 

431  Stevens  St.  cor*  West,  Camden,  N.J.,    12  M.,  Friday 
Dec.  19  [1873].  DEAR  BOY  PETE.  Well,  I  am  sitting  herein 

133 


CALAMUS 

the  parlor  again  writing  my  weekly  letter  —  as  I  write  the 
rain  is  pouring  and  it  is  a  thick  and  dark  day  enough  —  I 
am  feeling  pretty  bad,  but  it  seems  to  be  mostly  from  a 
severe  cold  in  the  head  —  any  how  I  am  having  one  of 
my  bad  spells,  of  which  I  have  gone  through  so  many  — 
had  a  bad  night  last  night  —  but  have  eat  my  breakfast 
this  morning,  and  have  no  doubt  I  shall  feel  better  before 
many  days.  Pete,  I  received  your  letter  and  the  Herald 
last  Monday  all  right.  Did  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Nash  get  the 
3  Graphics  I  sent  them  ?  —  I  have  been  out  most  every 
day  the  past  week,  and  have  been  across  the  river  to  Phil 
adelphia —  It  has  been  a  very  pleasant  week,  and  I  have 
enjoyed  sailing  across  the  Deleware,  and  the  splendid 
sunsets  most  every  evening — it  is  my  greatest  en  joyment 

—  Pete,  all  you  write  about  folks  and  things  in  Washing 
ton  is  interesting  to  me  —  it  will  be  read,  everything  you 
scratch  down,  as  I  sit  here  a  great  deal  of  the  time,  (  and 
time  is  dull  and  lonesome  at  the  best )  —  My  pieces   I 
have  written  (  I  believe  I  mentioned  about  it )  have  not 
yet  appeared  in  the  Magazine  —  but  the  money  has  been 
paid  me  for  them,  and  they  are  in  type,  and  I  have  read 
the  proofs  —  I  will  either  send  them  to  you,  when  printed, 
or  send  you  word,  so  you  can  get  them  yourself  —  Did  I 
send  you  both  my  letters  about  the  Capitol  in  the  Graphic^ 

—  I  believe  I  did,  but  if  not  I  can  yet  —  I  send  you  to 
day's  Philadelphia  Press —  nothing  special  in  it  —  Well, 
good  bye  for  this  time,  dear  loving  boy.     WALT.     Pete, 
how  about  running  on  here  to  see  ine  for  a  day  or  two  ?  — 


LETTERS  OF  1873 

Couldn't  you  come,  convenient,  say  latter  part  of  next 
week  ?     If  you  can,  I  will  fix  the  time. 

XXIV 

431  Stevens  St.  cor.  West,  Camden,  N.J.,  Dec.  26  —  Noon 
[1873],  DEAR  BOY  PETE.  I  have  been  looking  for  you 
the  last  two  days  and  nights  —  but  I  have  about  given 
you  up  now.  I  have  been  kept  in  pretty  close,  as  we 
have  had  real  winter  here,  snow  and  bad  weather,  and 
bad  walking  —  I  have  been  quite  alone,  as  my  brother 
and  sister  went  off  to  Delaware  on  Wednesday  on  a 
Christmas  visit,  to  return  to-morrow  Saturday  —  I  am 
about  the  same  —  my  strength  still  keeps  quite  encour 
aging  —  I  think  is  better  than  any  time  yet  —  my  walk 
ing  no  better,  and  still  a  good  deal  of  distress  in  the  head 
-  but  as  I  said  in  my  letter  of  Monday  last,  (  did  you  get 
it  Tuesday  ? )  —  I  somehow  feel  a  little  more  like  myself 
than  any  time  since  I  was  taken  down  —  Your  last  letter 
was  quite  a  treat  —  so  much  about  Washington,  and 
folks,  one  thing  and  another  —  As  I  write  I  sit  here  in 
the  parlor  —  we  have  had  an  awful  time  from  the  fire 
going  out  in  the  heater,  and  making  it  up  again — there 
is  so  much  complicated  machinery  about  one  of  these 
heaters  with  all  the  late  improvements  —  give  me  my  old 
stove  and  wood  fire  yet  —  It  is  snowing  by  fits  here  this 
morning.  WALT. 


A  GLIMPSE  through  an  interstice  caught, 

Of  a  crowd  of  workmen  and  drivers  in  a  bar-room  around  the 

stove  late  of  a  winter  night,  and  I  unremark'd  seated  in  a 

corner, 
Of  a  youth  who  loves  me  and  whom  I  love,  silently  approaching 

and  seating  himself  near,  that  he  may  hold  me  by  the  hand, 
A  long  while  amid  the  noises  of  coming  and  going,  of  drinking 

and  oath  and  smutty  jest, 
There  we  two,  content,  happy  in  being  together,  speaking  little, 

perhaps  not  a  word. 

Leaves  of  Grass  (Ed'n  1892),  p.  109. 


'36 


LETTERS  OF  1874 
I 

431  Stevens  St.  cor.  West,  Camden,  N.J.,Jan.  2,  12  M. 
[1874].  DEAR  BOY.  I  am  about  the  same  —  consider 
myself  improving,  if  anything,  though  slowly  enough  — 
Pete,  I  will  get  you  the  Dictionary,  I  will  see  about  it 
soon.  You  spoke  about  the  post  of  baggage  master  on 
the  through  New  York  train  —  and  the  appointment  being 
in  Philadelphia.  Who  appoints  them  ?  Tell  me  more 
fully  about  it  in  your  next.  I  got  your  last  letter,  and 
several  papers.  To-day  I  have  received  a  letter  from 
Charles  Eldridge  —  we  have  had  a  long  rainy  and  dark 
time  here,  but  mild  —  no  snow  on  the  ground  now  —  I 
go  out —  As  I  write,  the  trains  are  going  by,  about  400 
feet  off,  ringing  and  smoking  — there  are  20  a  day  in  full 
view  from  here.  WALT.  I  send  you  a  picture  for  your 
New  Year's. 

II 

431  Stevens  St.  cor.  West,  Camden,  Jan.  9  [1874]. 
WELL  PETE,  MY  DEAR  LOVING  BOY.  I  have  just  come  in 
from  a  15  minutes  walk  outside,  with  my  little  dog — it 
is  now  ^  past  i  Friday  afternoon  —  the  bright  sun  shin 
ing,  and  the  air  and  everything  as  pleasant  as  one  could 
wish  —  (  after  most  a  week  of  rainy,  dark  and  disagree- 

137 


CALAMUS 

able  but  warmish  weather  )  —  I  have  the  same  old  story 
to  tell,  —  and  thankful  enough  to  have  nothing  worse  to 
communicate  —  it  is  probable  I  am  really  slowly  gaining 
—  though  I  have  occasional  bad  spells  yet.  Your  letter 
was  received  —  I  was  thinking  whether  something  could 
not  be  done  about  getting  the  position  of  through  baggage 
master  —  and  feel  inclined  to  try  for  you  —  (you  know 
there  is  nothing  of  that  sort  done  without  trying)  —  Did 
you  get  the  story  "  Rolling  Stone  "  I  sent  by  P.  O.  ?  —  I 
have  had  a  visitor  from  New  York  this  forenoon  —  an 
old  acquaintance,  a  printer  and  foreman,  I  knew  20  years 
ago,  very  sickly  and  expecting  to  die,  at  that  time  —  now 
quite  lively  and  well,  really  jolly  and  magnetic,  and  good 
company,  and  a  good  fellow,  ( like  Parker  Milburn  )  —  I 
have  an  occasional  visitor,  but  not  many  —  Pete,  if  you 
see  anybody  coming  to  Philadelphia  you  think  I  would 
like  to  see,  give  'em  my  address  —  I  am  glad  to  see  most 
any  one  for  a  change  —  Your  old  WALT. 

Ill 

431  Stevens  St.  cor.  West,  Camden,  N.J.,  Friday  forenoon 
\\y<2,  [  i6///  Jan.  1874].  Well,  son,  how  do  you  make  out 
this  cold  weather  ?  for  I  suppose  you  are  having  it  there 
as  we  are  here  —  we  had  quite  a  snow  storm  here  three 
or  four  nights  ago,  and  since  then  it  has  cleared  off  bitter 
cold,  —  (thermometer  at  10  above  an  hour  ago,  at  our 
west  door  )  —  Still  I  go  out  some,  though  very  stiff  —  and 
lately  some  spells  in  my  head  rather  bad  and  queer,  what 

138 


LETTERS  OF  1874 

I  have  said  in  former  letters  about  my  general  strength  still 
holds  good  —  otherwise  I  am  in  a  bad  way  yet,  and  don't 
consider  myself  out  of  the  woods,  have  not  been  so  well 
as  usual  the  last  week.  If  you  come  across  the  Weekly 
Graphic  just  out  get  it,  as  I  have  commenced  a  series  of 
pieces  about  things  just  before  and  during  the  war.  The 
series  is  to  continue  through  four  or  five  numbers-  Get 
one  for  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Nash  —  Pete,  I  received  the  Golden 
Grain  —  also  the  letter,  Herald,  and  Repub.  —  send  me 
one  of  the  latter,  occasionally  —  I  had  rather  have  it  than 
any  —  (but  you  needn't  put  yourself  out  to  get  it )  —  As 
I  write  the  sun  is  shining  bright  and  clear  as  can  be  — 
the  ground  is  white  with  snow  in  all  directions,  it  is  not 
melting  anywhere  —  as  I  crossed  the  river  yesterday 
toward  dusk,  the  old  fellow,  the  charge*  of  the  ferry 
house,  told  me  that  between  1 2  and  2  o'clock  the  previous 
night  over  30  persons  crowded  in  there,  poor  houseless 
creatures,  to  keep  from  freezing  to  death  —  he  keeps  a 
great  stove  red  hot  all  night  —  some  were  young,  some 
old,  some  evidently  real  respectable  people  —  the  orders 
are  to  not  allow  it,  but  he  hadn't  the  heart  to  turn  'em  out 
—  God  help  the  homeless  and  moneyless  this  weather. 
WALT. 

IV 

431  Stevens  St.  cor.    West,   Camden,  N.  Jersey,  Jan.  19, 
Monday  noon  [1874].    DEAR  LOVING  SON.    I  received  your 
*  Intended  for  charge 
139 


CALAMUS 

letter  this  forenoon.  Pete,  I  thought  I  would  send  you  a 
little  change  enclosed  —  all  I  have  by  me  to-day  —  (  but 
I  have  plenty  at  my  command )  —  It  is  wet  and  foggy 
to-day,  and  a  glaze  of  ice  everywhere  —  so  I  am  compelled 
to  remain  in.  I  am  feeling  decidedly  better  the  last  24 
hours  —  am  surely  getting  through  the  winter  very  well 
—  guess  I  shall  come  out  with  the  frogs  and  lilacs  in  the 
spring  —  I  keep  a  bully  good  heart,  take  it  altogether  — 
and  you  must  too  my  darling  boy.  WALT. 


43 1  Stevens  St.  cor.  West,  Camden,  N.  Jersey,  Friday, 
i  ^4  P.M.  \Jan.  2$rd,  1874].  DEAR  BOY  PETE.  Your 
letter  came  Wednesday  —  you  must  try  to  cultivate  and 
keep  up  a  gay  and  cheerful  heart,  and  shed  off  bothera 
tions,  and  the  impositions  of  employers,  etc.,  as  a  duck 
sheds  water  in  a  rain  storm  —  that's  the  best  capital  a 
fellow  can  have  through  his  whole  life,  I  find.  I  am  only 
so— so — had  a  very  bad  night  last  night — it's  a  tough  pull 
Pete  —  still  I  think  I  shall  come  out  of  it.  We  are  hav 
ing  it  very  mild  here  now  —  after  snow  and  cold  the  first 
of  the  week  —  too  mild,  like  April  to-day,  cloudy  and 
some  rain.  I  keep  myself  some  busy  writing  *  —  have  a 
piece  in  Harper's  Monthly  just  out  (  February  )  —  shall 
have  another  in  the  March  number  —  Can't  seem  to  do 
without  occupying  my  mind  through  the  day  —  nights  are 
*  i.  f.  I  keep  writing  more  or  less. 
140 


LETTERS  OF  1874 

worst  for  me  —  I  can't  rest  well  —  has  been  so  now  for  a 
month  —  But  I  must  not  fill  my  letter  with  my  complaints 

—  To-day  is  just  a  year  since  I  was  paralyzed  (  2jrd  Jan. 
'75  )  —  What  a  year  it  has  been  to  me —  Good  bye,   my 
loving  boy  —  write  me  all  the  news  and  gossip.     WALT. 

VI 

431  Stevens  St,  cor.  West,  Camden,  N.Jersey,  Friday 
afternoon,  Jan.  30,  2  o'clock  [1874].  DEAR  PETE.  I  am 
having  another  of  my  bad  spells  to-day  —  but  it  will  pass 
over  —  I  have  had  a  pretty  good  time  most  of  the  week 
till  last  night  —  thought  I  was  getting  decidedly  better  — 
(and  guess  I  am  yet,  and  that  this  will  pass  over).  Every 
thing  goes  on  the  same  with  me  here.  As  I  write  this  I 
am  sitting  here  alone  as  usual  in  the  parlor  by  the  heater 

—  I  have  just  been  out,  but  it  was  so  chilly  and  raw  I 
didn't  venture  off  the  block,  but  came  back  in  5   or  6 
minutes  —  the   air  feels   like   snow.     The  trains  of  the 
Camden  and  Amboy  are  going  by  on  the  track  about  50 
or  60  rods  from  here,  puffing  and  blowing  —  often  train 
after  train,  following  each  other  —  and  locomotives  singly, 
whisking   and  squealing,   up  the  track  and  then  down 
again  —  I  often   sit  here  and   watch   them   long  —  and 
think  of  you.     I  think  I  shall  try  again  to  get  out,  even 
ing* —  sometimes  it  makes  me  feel  better,  after  I  get  out 
in  the  open  air,  and  move  around  a  little.     7.15  evening, 

*  In  the  evening. 
141 


CALAMUS 

Friday — I  am  writing  this  over  in  the  Mercantile 
Library,  loth  St.  Philadelphia  —  I  have  felt  better  since 
4  o'clock  and  have  come  out  and  crossed  the  river,  and 
taken  quite  a  ride  up  Market  St.  2  miles  in  the  Market 
St.  cars.  The  cars  are  very  nice,  old  style,  cushioned, 
fare  7  cents  —  if  you  get  a  transfer  you  have  to  pay  extra 
—  the  working  hours  are  from  16*4  to  18 — they  have 
the  new  alarm  punch,  every  fare  or  ticket,  rings  a  little 
bell  every  time  you  punch  —  I  suppose  you  have  seen  it 
—  they  say  it  is  quite  a  success,  and  they  are  introduc 
ing  them  in  other  cities  —  but  it  will  get  played  out  — 
Pete  write  how  you  are  getting  along  —  and  all  about  the 
folks,  every  one  I  know  —  I  am  feeling  as  well  as  usual, 
as  I  finish  this  letter  —  Good  bye  for  this  time  my  loving 
son. —  WALT.  Don't  you  get  discouraged  at  work,  or  on 
the  road —  I  feel  that  we  shall  yet  be  together,  and  have 
good  times,  just  being  with  each  other,  no  matter  how 
poor. 

VII 

431  Stevens  St.  cor.  West,  Camden,  N.  Jersey,  Friday 
noon,  Feb.  6  [1874].  DEAR  BOY  PETE.  Both  your  letters 
came  this  week  —  also  one  from  my  friend  Eldridge,  he 
too  speaks  of  meeting  and  talking  with  you.  It  is  real 
winter  here,  the  ground  all  covered  with  snow,  as  I  look 
out  —  not  the  least  thaw  to-day,  as  it  is  cloudy  —  I  rise 
pretty  late  mornings  —  had  my  breakfast  a  little  while 
ago,  mutton-chop,  coffee,  nice  brown  bread  and  sweet 

142 


LETTERS  OF  1874 

butter,  very  nice — eat  with  very  fair  appetite — I  enjoy 
my  breakfast  better  than  any  other  meal  —  (eat  a  light 
dinner  pretty  late,  and  no  supper)  —  Feel  generally 
about  the  same  as  before  described — no  worse  no  better, 
(nothing  to  brag  of  anyhow).  I  have  mentioned  about 
my  crossing  the  ferry  —  from  our  house  the  cars  run  by 
the  next  corner,  (200  feet  or  less)  a  half  mile  or  so  to  the 
ferry — the  Delaware  here  is  full  three  quarters  of  a  mile 
wide  —  it  is  a  noble  river,  not  so  wide  as  the  Potomac 
nor  with  fine  banks  like  Arlington,  but  grander,  and  with 
more  style,  and  with  powerful  rushing  tides,  now  great 
processions  of  broken  ice,  many  little  and  some  great  big 
cakes —  the  boats  are  very  fine  and  strong,  go  crashing  right 
ahead,  with  a  loud  noise,  breaking  the  cakes  often  a  foot 
thick  and  more  —  I  enjoy  crossing  these  days  —  it  does 
me  good  —  the  ferry  men  are  all  very  kind  and  respect 
ful  —  I  have  been  reading  a  book  Merrie  England  in  the 
Olden  Time,  a  London  book,  with  pictures,  full  of  fun 
and  humor  —  I  have  enjoyed  it  much  —  There  is  an 
awful  amount  of  want  and  suffering  from  no  work,  here 
about — a  young  man  was  here  yesterday  —  had  seen  me 
in  Washington  —  wanted  help  —  I  gave  him  a  little — I 
see  the  cars  and  locomotives  skurrying  by  as  I  close. 
WALT. 

VIII 

431   Stevens    St.  cor    West,  Camden,  N.Jersey,  Feb.   13, 
2^  P.  M.  [1874].      DEAR   PETE.     Here  I  am  yet  in  my 

M3 


CALAMUS 

big  chair  in  the  parlor  —  I  am  up  and  around,  but  not 
very  well  —  I  am  having  a  return,  (though  not  so  severe,) 
of  those  old  blurs  that  used  to  trouble  me  —  have  had  a 
succession  of  them  all  day  to-day  so  far  —  begun  yester 
day  —  but  I  have  no  doubt  they  will  pass  over.  It  is 
cloudy  and  sulky  here  to-day,  partially  thawing  —  and  is 
raining  now  —  I  have  been  out,  managed  to  walk  around 
the  block,  but  had  to  return  —  did  not  feel  well.  Pete, 
there  is  nothing  new  —  I  got  your  last  letter  —  have  re 
ceived  letters  from  Mrs.  O'Connor  —  I  have  no  doubt  I 
shall  feel  better  —  my  sickness  comes  and  goes  and  my 
relief  spells  the  same  —  I  shall  probably  have  to  stay  in 
the  rest  of  the  day  and  evening,  which  is  very  dull  and 
stupid  for  me  —  in  fact  quite  dismal  —  But  I  must  not 
write  what  will  make  you  blue,  would  rather  cheer  you 
up  —  I  am  still  continuing  the  pieces  in  the  Weekly 
Graphic  (will  be  ended  with  one  or  two  more)  —  expect 
to  have  a  piece  in  next  Harper  (March),  but  am  not  cer 
tain. —  Just  as  I  close  the  carrier  has  tapped  at  the  win 
dow  —  he  brings  me  a  letter  from  Boston,  and  in  it  a 
check,  paying  a  debt  due  me  a  long  time,  and  which  I 
had  quite  given  up  —  which  puts  me  in  better  spirits  — 
good  bye  for  present  my  dear,  loving  son  —  your  WALT. 

IX 

431  Stevens  St.  cor.  West,  Camden,  N.Jersey,  Friday 
afternoon,  2  y2  {Feb.  20,  1874].  DEAR  BOY  PETE.  Well 
Pete,  dear  son,  I  have  just  had  my  dinner  (stewed  chicken 

144 


LETTERS  OF  1874 

and  onions  —  good)  and  here  I  sit  again  in  the  same  old 
chair,  in  the  parlor,  writing  my  weekly  screed  to  you  — 
Nothing  to  brag  of  this  week  —  have  passed  a  dis 
agreeable  week  —  mainly  I  suppose  from  a  bad,  bad  cold 
in  the  head  —  have  suffered  badly  from  it,  every  way  — 
but  keep  up  and  around  —  and  shall  get  through  with  it, 
when  the  time  comes — Have  not  written  any  for  publi 
cation  the  past  fortnight  — •  have  not  felt  at  all  like  writ 
ing  —  My  Weekly  Graphic  pieces  are  about  concluded  — 
(the  next  week's,  the  6th  number,  ends  them  —  I  am 
just  reading  the  last  proof  to-day)  —  I  have  a  poem  in 
the  March  Harper*  —  as  I  believe  I  mentioned  in  my 
last,  (I  am  told  that  I  have  colored  it  with  thoughts  of 
myself —  very  likely) —  Pete,  I  received  your  letter  last 
Monday  —  and  Herald —  I  have  not  sent  you  any  papers 
or  books  lately  —  but  will,  again  —  As  I  sit  here,  con 
cluding  this,  I  am  feeling  quite  comfortable.  Take  care 
of  yourself,  my  darling  boy  —  your  old  WALT,  as  always. 
Pete,  as  I  am  a  little  in  extra  funds  to-day  I  enclose  you 
$5.— thinking  (like  Mrs.  Toodle's  coffin)  it  "might  per 
haps  come  in  use  sometime  " 


431  Stevens  St.  cor.  West,  Camden,  N.  Jersey,  Feb.  27 
[1874].  DEAR  SON.  Nothing  very  different  or  new 
with  me  —  I  have  had  rather  a  hard  week,  (continued 

*  "  The  Prayer  of  Columbus" 
145 


CALAMUS 

from  the  former  one) — but  still  I  don't  get  fiat — am 
often  thankful  to  be  as  well  as  I  am  —  I  received  your 
letter  and  paper.  —  We  too  have  had  the  same  snow 
storm  I  see  you  have  had  in  Washington  —  it  is  bright 
and  sunny  to-day  here,  though  middling  cool  —  I  am  sit 
ting  here  in  the  parlor  alone  —  it  is  about  i  o  —  I  have 
had  my  breakfast —  I  amuse  myself  by  seeing  the  locomo 
tives  and  trains  go  by- — I  see  them  very  plainly  out  of 
the  back  window  —  they  are  only  7  or  800  feet  off  —  they 
go  by  constantly  —  often  one  right  after  another  —  I 
have  got  used  to  them  and  like  them  —  Did  you  see  my 
last  pieces  in  the  Weekly  Graphic?  (the  sixth  paper,  just 
out,  is  the  last)  —  I  sent  you  a  couple  of  Philadelphia 
papers  yesterday  —  I  was  glad  you  wrote  me  about  Wash 
Peddrick  —  I  have  not  heard  from  him  in  a  long  time  — (he 
did  me  a  good  turn  once  in  the  office,  just  out  of  good 
will,  and  I  shall  never  forget  it)  —  Pete,  write  whoever 
you  see,  and  about  anything  in  Washington  —  I  met  a 
young  man  here  from  Washington  last  night,  Wm.  Colein, 
an  engineer  in  the  fire  room  Treasury  * —  Love  to  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Nash  —  and  to  Parker  and  Wash  Milburn  — 
and  in  short  to  all  my  friends —  your  old  WALT. 


XI 

431  Stevens  St.  cor.  West,  Camden,  N.  Jersey,  March  6 
[1874].     DEAR  BOY  PETE.     I  was  quite  shocked  to  hear 

**'.  e.  in  the  fire  room  of  the  Treasury  Building. 
146 


LETTERS  OF  1874 

of  Parker  Milburn's  death  —  he  was  never  very  rugged, 
but  he  kept  up  so  well,  and  always  had  some  cheerful, 
lively  thought  or  saying  —  I  was  far  from  anticipating  this 
—  I  think  he  had  very  noble  traits,  and  both  you  and  I 
liked  him  thoroughly — Pete,  I  hope  he  is  better  off  — 
I  will  try  to  write  a  few  words  to  Wash  —  Pete  I  have 
received  both  your  letters  —  I  go  out  often  in  the  Market 
St.  cars  past  the  West  Philadelphia  depot  you  speak  of, 
but  never  get  out  or  go  in  there,  as  it  is  a  great  depot, 
full  of  hurrying  people,  and  hacks  and  drivers,  and  trains 
coming  and  going  continually  and  people  rushing  and 
crowding  —  too  much  excitement  for  me  —  So  you  saw 
Colein,  in  the  Treasury  — I  saw  him  only  a  few  minutes 
in  a  street  car,  but  he  could  give  you  some  report  of  me 
from  his  own  eyes,  and  that  I  know  satisfied  you  better  — 
I  am  feeling  quite  an  improvement,  or  let  up,  the  last  two 
days  and  nights  on  the  bad  spell  I  spoke  of  in  my  last 
letters  —  have  slept  better  the  last  two  nights.  To-day 
as  I  write  here,  it  is  cloudy  and  feels  a  little  like  snow 
coming  —  it  has  been  very  mild  here  too  —  Pete,  go  up 
sometime  when  you  start  out  early  in  the  afternoon  and 
see  Mrs.  O'Connor,  1015  O  street  near  nth  —  she  will 
be  very  glad  to  see  you.  I  hope  you  won't  fail  to  go.  I 
am  feeling  quite  comfortable  to-day  as  I  write.  Pete,  I 
sometimes  think  if  I  was  fixed  so  that  I  had  you  with  me 
every  day  I  should  get  well  —  good  bye  for  this  week,  my 
loving  son  —  from  your  old  WALT. 


147 


CALAMUS 

XII 

43 1  Stevens  St.  cor.  West,  Camden,  IV.  Jersey,  Thursday, 
5  ]/?,  P.  M.  [March  12,  1874].  DEAR  BOY  PETE.  I  have  been 
in  all  day,  I  don't  think  I  ever  knew  such  long  continued 
gales  of  wind  —  this  is  now  the  fourth  or  fifth  day  — 
night  and  day  —  and  as  I  write  it  is  howling  and  whirl 
ing  just  as  bad  as  ever  —  I  havn't  been  out  any  to  speak 
of  for  three  days  —  the  gales  are  too  much  for  me.  My 
spell  of  let  up  and  feeling  more  comfortable  continues, 
with  some  interruptions —  night  before  last,  and  for  some 
time  yesterday  I  was  in  a  bad  way  again  —  but  had  a 
good  night's  rest  last  night,  and  am  comfortable  to-day  — 
I  think  I  am  decidedly  more  improving  than  going  behind 
hand  —  I  have  thought  frequently  of  Parker  Milburn  — 
all  his  ways  and  his  good  points  come  up  in  my  mind  — 
and  now  the  news  comes  of  the  sudden  death  of  Mr. 
Sumner  —  Your  letter  came  Monday  and  the  Herald.  — 
Friday,  March  13,  12  M.  Not  very  well  to-day —  To  add 
to  my  troubles  a  very  bad  cold  in  the  head  and  all  over 
me,  again — this  is  the  third  attack  this  winter  —  but 
enough  of  grunting  —  The  papers  are  filled  with  Sum- 
ner's  *  death,  funeral,  life,  etc.  The  cold,  dry  gale  con 
tinues  here.  I  get  letters  from  Mrs.  O'Connor.  Don't 
fail  to  go  up  and  make  her  a  call,  when  convenient.  You 
remember  Arnold  Johnson  that  used  to  live  over  on  the 

*  Charles    Sumner,    anti-slavery     statesman   and   United   States 
Senator  from  Massachusetts,  b.  at  Boston   1811,  d.  1874. 

148 


LETTERS  OF  1874 

hill  by  the  Insane  Asylum  —  well  he  has  come  back  to 
Washington,  and  is  Chief  Clerk  again  Light  House 
Board,  and  Wm.  O'Connor  has  changed  to  a  clerkship  in 
the  Library  Treasury.  *  I  am  sitting  here  alone  in  the 
same  old  seat  in  the  parlor  writing.  Good  bye  for  this 
time  dear  boy.  WALT. 

XIII 

431  Stevens  St.  Camden,  March  20,  4  ^  P.M.  [1874]. 
DEAR  BOY  PETE.  Nothing  particular  or  new  in  my  con 
dition —  I  have  been  to  the  Doctor's  to-day  — had  quite 
a  long  interview  —  no  great  satisfaction  —  I  still  have 
pretty  uncomfortable  times  —  and  yet  I  keep  up  good 
heart  in  the  main.  I  will  make  out  only  a  short  letter 
this  time,  I  see.  Good  bye  my  loving  son,  I  will  try  to 
do  better  next  week.  WALT. 

XIV 

431  Stevens  St.  cor.  West,  Camden,  N.Jersey,  [March  26, 
1874]  Thursday  afternoon  2  ^.  I  have  just  had  my  din 
ner —  roast  beef,  lima  beans,  graham  bread  and  sweet 
butter,  with  a  cup  of  tea,  and  some  stewed  cranberries  — 
I  eat  quite  a  good  dinner,  and  enjoyed  it  all.  I  still  con 
sider  myself  getting  along  very  well.  O,  if  this  only 
holds  out,  and  keeps  on  favorably,  even  if  ever  so  moderate 
and  slow  —  But  I  seem  to  have  so  many  of  these  gleams 

*  The  library  of  the  Treasury  Department  ? 
149 


CALAMUS 

that  delude  me  into  thinking  I  am  on  the  way  to  re 
covery,  but  soon  cloud  over  again,  and  let  me  back  as 
bad  as  ever  —  But  every  time  I  feel  pretty  easy,  I  still 
keep  thinking,  now  I  am  certainly  going  to  get  much 
better  this  time.  Pete,  your  short  letter  came  to-day, 
written  on  the  cars — dear  son,  come  whenever  you  can. 
As  I  said  on  my  postal  card,  if  you  were  here  this  week, 
you  would  find  me  more  like  myself,  (with  the  exception 
of  walking)  than  I  have  been  for  fourteen  months  — 
whether  it  will  continue  or  not,  God  only  knows — but 
we  will  hope  for  the  best.  As  I  sit  here  writing  to  you 
to-day,  it  appears  to  me  every  way  hopeful,  and  likely 
that  we  shall  yet  have  good  times.  Everything  is  quiet, 
rather  lonesome.  My  little  dog  is  stretched  out  on  the 
rug  at  full  length,  snoozing.  He  hardly  lets  me  go  a 
step  without  being  close  at  my  heels  —  follows  me  in  my 
slow  walks,  and  stops  or  turns  just  as  I  do.  We  have 
had  a  most  windy  blustering  March,  but  it  is  pleasanter 
and  milder  yesterday  and  to-day  — (I  saw  the  new  moon 
over  my  right  shoulder  a  week  ago, —  of  coiirse  a  sure 
sign  of  good  luck)  —  Will  finish  this  letter  and  send  it 
to-morrow.  Friday,  March  27,  noon.  Pleasant  and  bright 
weather  —  have  been  out  on  the  sidewalk  in  front,  once 
or  twice,  with  my  shawl  around  me  —  walk  slow  and 
quite  feeble  —  have  some  spells  of  bad  headache  —  Went 
by  the  West  Philadelphia  depot  yesterday  afternoon,  in 
the  Market  Street  horse  cars  —  saw  plenty  of  R.  R.  men 
and  conductors  about  the  place,  lounging  and  waiting 

150 


LETTERS  OF  1874 

their  time  —  thought  if  I  could  only  see  you  among 
them  —  as  I  sit  here  writing  I  can  see  the  trains  of  the 
Camden  and  Amboy,  in  full  view,  some  40  or  50  rods 
off  —  makes  it  quite  lively  —  As  I  write,  I  am  feeling 
pretty  comfortable,  and  am  going  out  awhile  after  I  finish 
this  —  but  had  a  bad  night  last  night.  Hope  this  will 
find  you  all  right  —  good  bye  for  this  time,  dear  son. 
WALT. 

XV 

431  Stevens  St.  cor.  West,  Camden,  JV.  Jersey,  April  10, 
12  M.  [1874].  DEAR  PETE.  Nothing  very  new  or 
different  in  my  condition,  or  anything  else  —  have  hardly 
been  doing  as  well  since  I  last  wrote,  as  before  —  but 
still  hope  to  pull  up.  —  Received  your  letter  last  Monday, 
and  the  Herald.  Not  much  of  a  letter  this  time,  my  lov 
ing  boy — as  I  don't  seem  to  be  able  to  write  much  — 
though,  as  I  sit  here,  I  am  not  feeling  any  worse  than 
usual.  Ashton  has  lost  his  little  child  :  died  last  Thurs 
day.  I  have  just  received  two  letters  from  Mrs.  O'Con 
nor.  How  does  all  go  with  you  ?  Pete,  darling,  shan't  I 
send  you  a  little  money  ?  WALT. 

XVI 

431  Stevens  St.  cor.  West,  Camden,  N.  Jersey,  April  16, 
i  P.M.  [1874].  DEAR  SON.  I  send  you  a  letter  a  day 
ahead  this  week — Nothing  new  with  me  —  received  the 
letter  of  last  Sunday  —  also  the  Capital  w&&  the  Herald — 


CALAMUS 

I  had  a  day  or  two's  visit,  very  acceptable,  from  John  Bur 
roughs  last  Saturday  and  Sunday  —  he  has  built  a  house 
on  the  Hudson  River  about  80  miles  from  N.  Y.  has  a 
little  farm  there,  9  or  i  o  acres,  very  nice  —  As  I  write  I 
am  feeling  comfortable,  (but  every  day  and  every  night 
seems  to  bring  its  bad  spell,  or  several  of  them) —  Some 
how  I  still  feel  that  I  shall  come  round,  and  that  we  shall 
be  together  and  have  some  good  times  again  —  but  I 
don't  know.  Your  WALT. 

XVII 

431  Stevens  St.  Camden,  N.  Jersey,  May  i,  2  P.M. 
[1874].  DEAR  PETE.  I  have  been  out  halting  around 
for  a  walk,  as  it  is  quite  pleasant  to-day  —  But  I  believe 
I  have  overdone  the  matter,  as  I  have  a  pretty  bad  feel 
ing  the  last  hour  or  two  both  in  the  head  and  left  side, 
and  as  I  sit  here  writing.  So  your  limited  express  seems 
to  be  a  real  success  —  if  it  keeps  up  as  well  as  it  has 
begun  I  have  no  doubt  it  will  increase,  and  be  patron 
ized,  and  become  a  permanent  institution  —  (I  had  got 
the  idea,  somehow,  at  first  that  the  same  crew  went 
through  from  Washington  to  New  York,  and  so  was  some 
in  hopes  of  seeing  you  in  Philadelphia)  —  No  change  in 
my  condition  or  prospects  —  the  young  man,  Walter 
Godey,  still  works  as  my  substitute  in  the  Solicitor's 
office  —  I  haven't  had  any  word  from  Eldridge  in  two 
months,  nor  from  Mrs.  O'Connor  in  some  time  —  (have 
you  been  up  there  ?) — Do  you  see  Hinton  or  Tasistro  ? 

152 


LETTERS  OF  1874 

—  My  sister  has  just  called  me  to  my  dinner — so  I  will 
close  for  this  time.     Your  old  WALT. 

XVIII 

43 1  Stevens  St.  cor.  West,  Camden,  N.  Jersey.  May  2  2 , 
3^  P.M.  [1874].  DEAR  PETE.  I  hope  you  will  be  able 
to  come,  as  you  said  in  your  last — If  I  knew  when  and 
where  you  would  arrive  in  Philadelphia,  I  would  try  to 
meet  you  —  As  I  wrote  you  before,  you  must  come  to 
Market  St.  ferry,  Philadelphia,  a  mile  and  a  half  or  2 
miles  from  R.  R.  depot,  and  cross  over  by  boat  to 
Federal  St.,  Camden  —  (The  Philadelphia  horse  cars  run 
Sundays  —  run  down  to  the  foot  of  Market  St. —  but  the 
Camden  ones  do  not  —  but  it  is  not  very  far  from  the 
ferry  in  Camden).  I  am  very  much  the  same  —  my 
being  disabled  and  want  of  exercise  for  16  months,  (and 
many  other  wants  too)  have  saddled  me  with  serious 
dyspepsia  and  what  the  doctor  calls  gastric  catarrh,  very 
obstinate,  causing  me  really  more  suffering  and  pain 
than  my  paralysis  —  but  though  I  have  bad  spells 
enough,  thank  God  I  also  have  middling  good  ones  — 
and  as  I  write  this  have  just  had  my  dinner,  nice  salt 
oysters,  raw,  fresh,  and  am  feeling  quite  comfortable  — 
Dear  son,  I  shall  look  for  you.  WALT. 

XIX 

431   Stevens  St.  cor.  West,   Camden,  A^  Jersey,  June  25 
[1874].  DEAR  BOY  PETE.  I  have  weathered  it  out  pretty  well 


CALAMUS 

this  week  —  at  present  moment  I  am  sitting  here  cover'd 
with  sweat,  with  nothing  on  but  shirt  and  pants  —  to-day 
and  yesterday  the  very  hottest  kind  —  I  suppose  you  have 
it  too. —  Pete,  there  is  nothing  new  in  my  case,  and  no 
prospect  more  than  usual  of  anything  sudden  — but  it 
seems  pretty  clear  that  there  is  no  substantial  recovery 
probable,  (hardly  possible)  for  me  —  how  long  it  will  last 
this  way  it  is  of  course  impossible  to  tell  —  I  take  it  all 
without  growling  —  things  are  steadily  growing  worse  with 
me  — But  I  must  not  worry  you  — and  may-be  there  is  some 
thing  more  favorable  ahead  —  I  busy  myself  a  little  every 
day  writing  —  I  want  to  fix  my  books  in  a  little  better 
shape,  this  summer  —  partly  busy  with  a  new  volume  — 
so  that  they  will  all  be  comprised  in  two  volumes  —  (  not 
very  much  really  new  matter,  but  some)  —  So  you  don't 
come  on  to  Baltimore  now,  (  as  I  take  it  from  your  last ) 
—  Love  to  you,  dear  son.  WALT.  Love  to  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Nash  — Do  you  ever  see  Mrs.  O'Connor  or  Eldridge?  — 
Is  Tasistro  still  around  ? 

XX 

431  Stevens  St.  cor.  West,  Camden,  N.  Jersey -,  July  10 
[1874].  DEAR,  DEAR  SON.  I  am  still  here  suffering 
pretty  badly  —  have  great  distress  in  my  head,  and  an 
almost  steady  pain  in  left  side  —  but  my  worst  troubles 
let  up  on  me  part  of  the  time  —  the  evenings  are  my  best 
times  —  and  somehow  I  still  keep  up  in  spirit,  and,  ( the 
same  old  story )  expect  to  get  better.  I  have  been  dis- 

154 


LETTERS  OF  1874 

charged  from  my  clerkship  in  the  solicitor's  office,  Treas 
ury,  by  the  new  Solicitor,  Mr.  Wilson.  I  think  of  laying 
up  here  in  Camden,  I  have  bought  a  cheap  lot  —  and 
think  of  putting  up  a  little  two  or  three  room  house  for 
myself,  my  darling  son,  you  must  not  be  unhappy  about 
me  —  I  hope  and  trust  things  may  work  so  that  we  can 
yet  be  with  each  other,  at  least  from  time  to  time  —  and 
meanwhile  we  must  adapt  ourselves  to  circumstances. 
You  keep  on  and  try  to  do  right,  and  live  the  same 
square  life  you  always  have,  and  maintain  as  cheerful  a 
heart  as  possible,  and  as  for  the  way  things  finally  turn 
out,  leave  that  to  the  Almighty  —  Pete,  I  shall  want  you 
or  Mr.  Eldridge  to  see  to  the  sending  on  here  of  my  boxes 
at  Dr.  White's  —  I  will  write  further  about  it  —  I  have 
not  heard  anything  from  Eldridge,  or  Mrs.  O'Connor,  or 
any  of  the  Washington  folk  for  quite  a  long  time.  Have 
you  been  up  to  see  Mrs.  O'C.  ?  Pete,  didn't  you  get  my 
last  Saturday's  postal  card  ?  I  wrote  you  one,  I  got  yours 
last  Monday — Did  you  get  the  Camden  paper  with  my 
College  piece  in  ?  I  sent  one.  Very  hot  here  yesterday 
and  to-day.  I  don't  fret  at  all  about  being  discharged  — 
it  is  just  as  well  —  I  wonder  it  didn't  come  before  —  How 
are  your  folks  at  home?  —  your  dear  mother  and  all  —  write 
about  all  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Nash,  Wash  Milburn,  and  the 
R  R.  boys.  Your  old  WALT. 


155 


CALAMUS 

XXI 

431  Stevens  St.  Camden,  Aug.  28  [1874].  DEAR  PETE. 
Nothing  very  new  with  me  — rather  a  mixed  week  —  some 
suffering  —  Pete,  if  you  have  a  decided  wish  to  go  on  the 
Pullman  car,  and  are  pretty  clear  that  it  would  be  a  good 
move,  I  will  let  you  have  $100.  Good  bye  for  this  time, 
dear  son.  Your  WALT. 

XXII 

Camden,  Friday  afternoon  [Aug.  29,  1874].  DEAR 
PETE.  I  still  remain  about  the  same,  and  with  nothing 
to  write  about  in  the  way  of  my  improvement,  or  anything 
else  —  but  I  thought  you  would  want  to  have  word. 
Your  letter  of  last  Sunday  came  all  right.  The  paper 
has  also  come.  I  am  no  worse  —  and  continue  to  live 
on  hope  —  fortunately  I  have  been  stocked  with  a  good 
plentiful  share  of  it.  It  is  pleasant  weather  here,  though 
hot  —  we  have  frequent  rains — we  have  had  one  to-day, 
about  an  hour  ago,  but  now  it  is  very  bright  and  pleas 
ant  —  I  am  going  to  try  to  get  out  a  little  —  So  good 
bye  for  this  time,  dear  son  —  I  hope  to  write  more  of  a 
letter  next  time.  WALT. 

XXIII 

431  Stevens  St.  cor.  West,  Camden,  N.  J.,  Oct.  13 
[1874].  DEAR  PETE.  I  want  some  things  taken  out  of 
my  trunk,  and  put  in  a  bundle  and  sent  here  by  express. 

156 


LETTERS  OF  1874 

I  have  written  to-day  to  Mr.  Eldridge  and  sent  him  the 
key.  I  have  asked  him  to  go  into  Milburn's  between 
3.30  and  4  this  afternoon,  and  meet  you  —  or  if  not  con 
venient  for  you  this  afternoon,  to-morrow  or  next  will 
do  just  as  well,  as  I  am  in  no  hurry  —  you  both  go  up 
in  my  room  and  get  them  —  I  want  my  old  gray  suit,  coat, 
vest  and,  (I  think  there  are  two  pair  of  pants)  my  old 
black  overcoat  that  is  laid  away  in  the  trunk.  Black  felt 
hat  —  (the  smallest  lightest  one).  The  old  buckskin 
gloves.  I  think  some  big  sheets  of  very  stout  wrapping 
paper,  and  plenty  of  stout  cord  will  do  —  the  directions 
must  be  very  plain  and  in  two  places  —  If  not  convenient 
to  go  to-day,  go  to-morrow  afternoon,  or  next.  I  don't 
want  the  freight  paid,  as  I  will  pay  it  on  delivery  here.  I 
enclose  a  dollar  as  there  may  be  some  expense  (some 
little  fixings).  Pete,  I  received  your  letter  this  morning, 
and  it  was  very  welcome,  as  always.  I  received  the 
Sunday  Herald  too.  I  am  having  a  good  spell  so  far 
to-day  —  (if  it  would  only  continue)  —  The  bundle  will 
come  well  enough,  as  it  is  a  short  straight  route,  if  you 
only  do  it  up  so  they  won't  get  loose,  and  put  on  plain 
directions.  WALT. 


157 


CAMERADO,  I  give  you  my  hand  ! 

I  give  you  my  love  more  precious  than  money, 

I  give  you  myself  before  preaching  or  law. 

Leaves  of  Grass  (Ed'n  1892),  p.  129. 


I58 


LETTERS    OF    1875 

I 

431  Stevens  St.  cor.  West,  Camden,  N.  Jersey.  Friday, 
2  P.  M.  [1875].  DEAR  PETE.  Nothing  special  to  write 
you,  about  myself,  or  anything  else,  this  week,  your  letter 
and  the  Herald  came  last  Monday.  The  time  goes  very 
tedious  with  me  —  and  yet  I  think  I  am  getting  better, 
(but  don't  know  for  sure)  —  Still  have  frequent  bad 
spells.  I  stopt  at  the  W.  Philadelphia  depot,  Market 
street,  two  or  three  evenings  ago,  in  the  general  passen 
gers'  room,  to  rest,  about  i  o  minutes.  Then  took  the  car 
for  Market  St.  ferry,  (a  mile  and  a  half  or  three  quarters) 
and  over  to  Camden,  home  —  I  get  desperate  at  staying 
in  —  not  a  human  soul  for  cheer,  or  sociability  or  fun, 
and  this  continued  week  after  week  and  month  after 
month  —  So  you  met  Johnny  Saunders  in  Baltimore,  and 
he  is  flourishing.  If  you  see  him  again,  tell  him  to  write 
to  me  —  he  is  a  young  man  I  always  loved,  j^  past  2. 
I  have  just  had  a  nice  oyster  stew  for  my  dinner  —  it  is 
blustering  weather,  partly  clear,  partly  cloudy,  and  one  or 
two  little  flirts  of  snow  to-day.  I  send  you  a  paper  or 
two,  but  nothing  in  them.  I  will  try  to  stop  in  Phila 
delphia  and  find  that  little  dictionary  I  promised  you  — 
So  long,  my  loving  son,  your  old  WALT. 

'59 


CALAMUS 

II 

431  Stevens  St.  cor.  West,  Camden,  N.Jersey,  April 30, 
noon  [1875].  DEAREST  SON,  I  saw  the  R.  R.  smash 
the  first  thing  in  the  paper  in  the  morning,  and  run  my 
eyes  over  the  account  with  fear  and  trembling  —  and 
only  on  reading  it  over  a  second  time  was  I  satisfied  that 
you  were  not  in  it — poor  souls !  for  I  suppose  every  one 
that  was  in  it,  had  some  who  heard  or  read  the  news  with 
pain  and  terror  —  some  parent,  wife,  friend,  or  child  — 
poor  Buchanan  —  but  I  hope  from  accounts  that  he  will 
get  up  again,  before  long  without  serious  damage  —  The 
papers  here  publish  full,  and  I  guess  very  good  accounts 
of  the  whole  affair  —  I  liked  what  the  Star  said  so  plainly 

—  that  the  cause  below  all  others  of  such  accidents,  is  be 
cause    they  run    such  a  route  over   a  single  track  —  you 
may  remember  my  warning  on  the  same  point  three  years 
ago   in   a   talk   with    you.     Pete,    the   spring   finds   me 
pretty  much  in  the  same  tedious  and  half  way  condition 
I  have  been  lingering  in  now  over  two  years  —  up  and 
around  every  day,  look  not  much  different,  and  eat  pretty 
well  —  but  not  a  day  passes  without  some   bad   spells, 
sometimes  very  bad,  and  never  a  real  good  night's  sleep 

—  yet  still  I  have  a  sort  of  feeling  not  to  give  it  up  yet 

—  keep  real  good  spirits  —  don't  get  blue,  even  at  my 
worst  spells  —  I  am  sitting  here  to-day  as  usual  alone  in 
the  front  room,  by  the  window  —  feel  pretty  comfortable 

—  the  weather   is   bright  and  pleasant  here  to-day,  but 
cool  for  the  season,  and  the  most  backward  I  have  ever 

160 


LETTERS  OF  1875 

known  —  My  sister  is  going  away  for  some  ten  days  to 
morrow  or  next  day,  and  I  shall  be  quite  alone  in  the 
house — wish  you  could  come  on  and  pay  me  a  visit  — 
Would  you  like  to  have  me  direct  any  letters  or  papers 
to  the  American  Hotel,  Bait.,  or  shall  I  just  direct  to 
you  at  Washington  as  usual  ? —  love  to  my  darling  son. 
WALT. 

Ill 

43 1  Stevens  St.  cor.  West,  Camden,  N.  Jersey,  Aug.  6 
[1875].  DEAR  PETE,  DEAR,  DEAR  BOY.  Still  here,  pull 
ing  through  the  summer  —  (I  think  the  winter  is  better  for 
me)  the  hot  sunny  days  are  worst  for  me  —  an  extra  bad 
strange  feeling  every  day  in  the  head,  (the  doctor  thinks 
probably  the  result  of  an  old  sunstroke  2  o  years  ago  — 
now  the  brain  liable  to  it  again  in  its  sensitive  condition) 
—  otherwise  not  much  different — bad  enough  though.  I 
still  go  out  a  little  (most  always  feel  at  the  best,  for  me, 
evenings,  from  sundown  to  10.)  Papers,  etc.,  came.  I 
still  keep  a  little  at  work  —  there  is  a  printing  office  here, 
where  I  am  doing  my  work  —  they  are  young  men  of  the 
right  stripe,  and  very  kind  and  considerate  and  respectful 
to  me  —  fix  every  thing  in  type,  proof,  etc.,  just  to  suit 
me  —  I  am  leisurely  preparing  my  new  volume.  Mr. 
Marvin,  an  Internal  Revenue  Clerk,  a  friend  of  mine,  has 
stopt  and  paid  me  a  visit  on  his  return  to  Washington. 
Plenty  of  rain  here  —  hot  but  pleasant  to-day  —  What  has 
become  of  Tasistro  ? —  Pete,  you  haven't  made  that  call  on 

161 


CALAMUS 

Mrs.   O'C.  yet.     Come  when  you  can,  my  darling  boy. 
Your  loving  old  comrade  and  father.     WALT  W. 


IV 

43 1  Stevens  St.  cor.  West,  Camden,  N.  Jersey,  Aug.  1 4 
[1875].  DEAR  SON.  I  am  not  feeling  very  bright  to-day 
—  hardly  capable  of  writing  a  cheerful  letter  —  and  I 
don't  want  to  send  you  a  blue  one  —  will  feel  better  by 
next  time,  your  WALT. 


Camden,  Aug.  29  [1875].  ^Y  DEAR  SON.  Your  letter 
came  all  right  last  Monday,  and  the  papers.  Send  me 
the  Herald  tomorrow,  ( with  one  blue  stamp  on )  you 
needn't  mind  the  other  Sunday  papers  —  I  send  you 
Harper's  Magazine  for  September  —  I  am  still  holding  my 
own  —  gain  a  little  strength,  and  am  certainly  improving 
though  very  slowly  —  both  head  and  leg  are  bad  enough, 
but  general  feeling  is  much  better,  most  of  the  time  —  I 
have  sent  Philadelphia  papers  once  or  twice  and  may 
again  —  There  is  nothing  in  them,  but  I  thought  you 
would  know  I  was  still  around  —  The  weather  here  is 
pleasant,  and  cool  enough,  favorable  to  me — I  get  out 
a  little  every  day  —  am  going  out  when  I  finish  this — 
Cannot  write  much  to-day  —  am  having  a  bad  head-ache 
all  day  —  still  I  feel  in  good  heart.  So  long,  Pete,  dear 
boy.  WALT. 

162 


LETTERS  OF  1875 

VI 

Camden,  Nov.  3  [1875].  DEAR  BOY.  I  have  received 
your  letter,  and  enclose  the  $10.  for  you.  I  am  still  the 
same  —  am  all  alone  in  the  house  to-day,  as  my  brother 
has  gone  to  New  York  and  my  sister  has  gone  somewhere 
visiting  to  spend  the  day.  How  I  wish  you  were  here 
to-day.  WALT. 

VII 

431  Stevens  St.  cor.  West,  Camden,  N.  Jersey,  Dec.  3, 
noon  [1875].  DEAR  PETE,  DEAR  SON.  I  am  getting  over 
my  late  bad  spell  —  I  have  been  very  sick  indeed,  the 
feeling  of  death  and  dizziness,  my  head  swimming  a  great 
deal  of  the  time  —  turning  like  a  wheel  —  with  much  dis 
tress  in  left  side,  keeps  me  awake  some  nights  all  night 
—  the  doctor  says,  however,  these  troubles,  in  his  opinion, 
are  from  a  very  serious  and  obstinate  liver  affection  —  not 
from  head,  lungs,  heart  —  he  still  thinks  there  is  nothing 
but  what  I  will  get  the  better  of —  (and  we  will  trust  he 
is  a  true  prophet  )  —  I  wrote  about  like  the  foregoing  to 
Mrs.  O'Connor,  but  was  too  sick  to  repeat  it  to  you  — 
and  that  was  one  reason  I  asked  you  to  go  up  there,* — I 
havn't  been  out  for  three  weeks,  but  ventured  out  yester 
day  for  an  hour,  and  got  along  better  than  I  expected  — 
and  shall  go  out,  or  try  to,  to-day  as  it  is  very  pleasant  — 

*  Had  doubtless  written  a  letter  to  Mrs.  O'Connor  and  a  post 
card  to  Pete. 

163 


CALAMUS 

you  must  not  be  needlessly  alarmed,  my  darling  boy,  for 
I  still  think  I  shall  get,  at  any  rate  partially  well  and 
strong  enough  —  The  doctor  is  quite  encouraging  — 
comes  every  day —  and  I  feel  a  good  heart  yet  —  My 
young  fireman  friend  Alcott  (  I  think  I  mentioned  his 
sickness  )  is  dead  and  buried,  poor  fellow  —  I  send  you 
a  bit  of  piece  of  mine  about  him  from  the  paper  — I  have 
some  spurts  of  visits,  and  company  —  but  very  little  that 
goes  to  the  right  spot  with  me  —  My  brother  George  has 
got  a  horse  and  light  wagon  and  takes  me  out  now  and 
then,  I  enjoy  it  much  —  but  I  have  been  too  feeble  lately 
—  Altogether  pretty  lonesome  here,  but  might  be  much 
worse  —  Love  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Nash,  and  to  all  inquiring 
friends.  Your  old  WALT. 


164 


LETTERS  OF  1876-1880 

I 

CAMDEN,     N.    J.      [Wednesday,]     Dec.     13 
[1876].     DEAREST  PETE.     I   ought  to   have 
written  to   you   before  —  but   I  believe   lazy 
and  listless  fits  grow  stronger  and  frequenter 
on  me  as  I  get  older  —  and  then  I  don't  do  anything  at 
all,    especially  just   the   things   I    ought  to   do.     But   I 
often,  often   think  of    you   boy,  and  let    that    make   it 
up.      I    certainly    am  feeling  better   this    winter,    more 
strength  to  hold  out,  walking  or  like,  than  for  nearly 
now  four  years  —  bad  enough  yet,  but  still  decidedly  better 
(my  loving  boy,  I  underscore  the  words,  for  I  know  they 
will  make  you  feel  good,  to  hear). 

I  heard  about  the  accident  on  the  road  at  the  time  two 
weeks  ago  —  and  was  uneasy  enough  until  I  heard 
definite  particulars  —  such  things  seem  the  fortune  of 
R.  R.  travel,  which  I  sometimes  think  more  risky  than 
the  "fortune  of  war,"  which  the  knowing  ones  know  well 
is  more  chance  and  accident  (I  mean  the  victory  in 
battles)  than  it  is  generalship. 

Pete,  I  am  sitting  up  here  alone  in  my  room  8  o'clock 
p.  M.  writing  this  —  I  am  feeling  quite  comfortable  —  I 
stood  the  cold  snap  of  the  last  three  days  very  well  — 
to-day  has  been  moderate  and  nice  here  —  Nothing  new 
or  special  in  my  affairs  —  I  am  selling  a  few  of  my  books, 

165 


CALAMUS 

(the  new,  2  vol.,  i  o  dollar,  edition)  from  time  to  time  — 
mostly  to  English  and  Irish  purchasers —  it  is  quite  funny 
how  many  of  my  books  are  sent  for  from  Ireland.  Love 
to  you,  dearest  son.  WALT. 

II 

431  Stevens  Street,  Camden,  Dec.  27,  '76.  DEAR  SON. 
The  money  came  all  right,  and  I  will  keep  it  for  the 
present,  and  use  it  for  myself  —  but  only  to  return  it  at 
some  future  time  when  I  am  flush.  Nothing  very  new  with 
me.  I  still  feel  pretty  well,  for  me,  (and  considering  the 
past  four  years).  Who  knows  ?  May  be  after  this  winter, 
I  shall  feel  well  enough  to  come  on  to  Washington 
and  make  out  several  weeks  —  and  we'll  have  a  good 
time  together,  my  loving  son,  — (no  more  long  walks  to 
be  sure — but  we  can  be  happy  other  ways)  — Beautiful, 
mild,  sunny,  thawing  afternoon  to-day  —  I  have  been  out 
a  little  —  down  to  see  a  poor  young  man,  an  oysterman, 
Jim  Davis,  very  low  with  consumption,  took  him  some 
stewed  chicken  for  his  dinner — then  went  to  a  nice  read 
ing  room  and  library  we  have  here,  very  handy — then 
home  to  my  own  dinner,  stewed  chicken  and  nice  roast 
potatoes  —  and  now  (2  y? )  up  stairs  in  my  room  writing 
this,  and  feeling  very  fair  —  O  Pete,  you  get  that  arm 
chair  (with  the  broken  arm)  I  left  at  Mrs.  Nash's  —  per 
haps  the  broken  arm  is  still  there,  if  so  get  it  put  on  — 
then  take  the  chair  home  for  you  as  a  New  Year's  pres 
ent,  and  for  your  mother  to  sit  in  and  you  afterwards  — 

1 66 


LETTERS  OF  1876-1880 

you  know  I  used  the  chair  for,  a  year,  and  if  I  recollect 
right,  it  is  a  good  strong  one,  though  plain  —  I  am  glad 
to  hear  what  you  wrote  about  your  mother  —  Everything 
about  fellows'  old  mothers  is  interesting  to  me  —  Give 
my  love  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Nash  —  your  loving  old  WALT. 

Ill 

1929  North  22nd  street,  Philadelphia,  Wednesday,  June 
20,  1877.  DEAR,  DEAR  BOY  PETE.  I  am  stopping  here 
now  for  a  week  or  two  in  the  house  I  believe  I  have  men 
tioned  to  you  before,  and  where  I  wanted  you  to  come 
and  see  me  —  (and  still  want  you  if  you  have  a  chance) 
but  I  spend  most  of  my  time  down  at  an  old  farm  in 
Jersey  where  I  have  a  fine  secluded  wood  and  creek  and 
springs,  where  I  pass  my  time  alone,  and  yet  not  lone 
some  at  all  (often  think  of  you,  Pete,  and  put  my  arm 
around  you  and  hug  you  up  close,  and  give  you  a  good 
buss  —  often). 

I  am  still  keeping  pretty  well  for  me,  have  improved 
much,  indeed  quite  fat,  and  all  sun  burnt  brick  red  in  the 
face,  and  hands  as  brown  as  nuts  —  am  pretty  lame  and 
paralysed  yet,  but  walk  or  rather  hobble  sometimes  half 
a  mile  and  have  no  more  (or  hardly  ever)  of  those  bad, 
prostrated,  gone  in,  faint  spells  I  used  to  have  most  every 
day — so  you  see  I  am  doing  pretty  well,  my  dear  —  I 
still  make  my  brother's  house  at  Camden  my  head 
quarters,  and  keep  my  room  there,  address  my  letters  to 
Camden  always. 

167 


CALAMUS 

But  my  sister  is  not  well,  has  not  been  for  some  weeks, 
(is  soon  to  be  confined).  Upon  the  whole  am  getting 
along  pretty  well,  and  good  spirits.  The  new  edition  of 
my  books  I  sell  enough  of  to  pay  my  way  very  nicely 
—  so  I  get  along  all  right  in  that  respect  —  (I  don't  need 
much)  —  How  are  they  getting  along  at  the  Navy  Yard  ? 
—  I  send  them  my  love  (I  haven't  forgotten  the  pictures, 
but  they  are  a  long  while  a-coming)  —  When  you  see  Mr. 
Noyes  tell  him  I  should  like  to  come  on  and  pay  him  a 
visit  this  fall  —  And  now  good  bye  for  this  time,  my  own 
loving  boy.  Your  old  WALT. 

IV 

Kirkwood,  New  Jersey,  Monday,  July  2,  1877.  DEAR 
BOY  PETE.  I  still  keep  pretty  well,  and  am  again  down 
here  at  the  farm  in  the  country,  for  a  couple  of  weeks,  and 
to  stay  over  4th  of  July.  Nothing  particularly  new  in  my 
affairs. 

As  I  write  this  (Monday,  10  A.M.)  it  is  a  beautiful  bright 
breezy  forenoon — and  I  am  going  now  down  to  the 
creek  and  spring  to  take  a  bath  —  it  is  about  90  rods 
distant  and  I  walk  there  and  back.  Love,  love,  love. 
Your  old  WALT.  I  still  make  my  headquarters  in 
Camden. 


431  Stevens  St.   Camden,    Sunday,    Sept.    16,  4.30  p.  M. 
[1877].     DEAR  SON.     I  will  write  you  a  line  or  two  any- 

168 


LETTERS  OF  1876-1880 

how  —  (  it  is  so  long  since  I  have  written  anything  in  an 
envelope  )  —  Pete,  if  you  was  to  see  me  to-day  you  would 
almost  think  you  saw  your  old  Walt  of  six  years  ago  —  I 
am  all  fat  and  red  and  tanned. —  have  been  down  in  the 
country  most  of  the  summer,  returned  the  past  week  — 
feel  real  comfortable  for  me  —  only  I  am  still  paralyzed 
left  side,  and  have  pretty  bad  stomach  troubles  still  at 
times  —  but  thankful  to  God  to  be  as  well  and  jolly  as  I 
am.  I  am  all  alone  in  the  house  to-day,  and  have  had  a 
good  time  —  fine  bright  warm  day  —  been  but  twice  for 
short  walks,  (my  little  dog  accompanying  me)  —  rest  of 
the  time  up  here  alone  in  my  3rd  story  south  room  — 
done  up  and  sent  off  my  two  books  to  a  subscriber  in 
England  —  eat  my  dinner  alone,  wished  you  could  be 
with  me  then,  and  for  a  couple  of  hours,  if  no  more —  Pete, 
your  papers  all  come  regularly,  and  I  am  pleased  to  get 
them  —  About  coming  on  I  cannot  say  now,  but  /  shall 
come,  and  before  long — Love  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Nash, — 
Love  to  you,  my  darling  son,  and  here  is  a  kiss  for  you. 
W.  W. 

VI 

431  Stevens  St.  cor.  West,  Camden,  N.  Jersey,  Nov.  5 
[1877].  DEAR  SON.  I  think  I  shall  try  to  come  on  to 
Washington  next  Monday,  in  the  noon  train  from  here,  W. 
Philadelphia  (  limited  express  )  —  Am  feeling  about  the 
same — (bad  enough  at  times  —  but  sort  o'  getting  used 
to  it,  )  —  WALT.  As  I  understand  it,  the  train  I  speak  of 

169 


CALAMUS 

goes  into  your  depot,  6th    St.     Must  get   in  some   time 
before  dark. 

VII 

Camden,  New  Jersey,  (Friday?)  Dec.  20,  1878.  Letter 
rec'd. —  (And  very  glad  every  way — and  thanks) — I 
think  I  am  really  better  this  winter — The  cold  and  snow 
and  ice  keep  me  in  the  house  —  else  I  should  have  been 
over  to  the  W.  Phil.  Depot  —  it  would  have  done  me  good 
even  to  have  a  minute  and  a  good  hold  of  you  once  more 
—  Nothing  new  in  my  affairs  —  I  am  doing  well  enough. 
Tell  Mr.  and  Mrs.  N.  I  want  to  come  to  Wash,  once  more, 
and  I  have  not  forgot  the  pictures.  W.  W. 

VIII 

2316  Pine  Street*  St.  Louis,  Missouri,  Nov.  5  [1879]. 
DEAR  PETE.  You  will  be  surprised  to  get  a  letter  from 
me  away  off  here  —  I  have  been  taking  quite  a  journey 
the  last  two  months  —  have  been  out  to  the  Rocky 
Mountains  and  Colorado  (2000  miles)  (Seems  to  me  I 
sent  you  a  paper  six  weeks  ago  from  Denver)  —  I  got 
along  very  well  until  three  weeks  ago  when  I  was  taken 
sick  and  disabled,  and  hauled  in  here  in  St.  Louis  for 
repairs,  have  been  here  ever  since  —  am  fixed  comfort 
able  —  still  somewhat  under  the  weather,  (but  have  no 
doubt  I  shall  be  well  as  usual  for  me  before  long)  —  shall 
stay  here  probably  two  or  there  weeks  longer,  and  then 
back  east  to  Camden. —  Pete,  this  is  a  wonderful  country 

*The  address  of  his  brother  Jeff,  with  whom  he  stayed  in  St. 
Louis. 

170 


LETTERS  OF  1876-1880 

out  here,  and  no  one  knows  how  big  it  is  till  he  launches 
out  in  the  midst  of  it  —  But  there  are  plenty  of  hard-up 
fellows  in  this  City  and  out  in  the  mines,  and  all  over 
here  —  you  have  no  idea  how  many  run  ashore,  get  sick 
from  exposure,  poor  grub,  etc. — many  young  men,  some 
old  chaps,  some  boys  of  1 5  or  1 6  —  I  met  them  every 
where,  especially  at  the  R.  R.  stoppings,  out  of  money 
and  trying  to  get  home  —  But  the  general  run  of  all  these 
Western  places,  City  and  country  is  very  prosperous,  on 
the  rush,  plenty  of  people,  plenty  to  eat,  and  apparently 
plenty  of  money  —  Colorado  you  know  is  getting  to  be 
the  great  silver  land  of  the  world — In  Denver  I  visited 
a  big  smelting  establishment,  purifying  the  ore,  goes 
through  many  processes  —  takes  a  week  —  well  they 
showed  me  silver  by  the  cart  load  —  Then  in  middle 
Colorado,  in  one  place,  as  we  stopt  in  a  mining  camp,  I 
saw  rough  bullion  bars  piled  up  in  stacks  outdoors  five 
or  six  feet  high,  like  haycocks  —  so  it  is  —  a  few  make 
great  strikes  —  like  the  prizes  in  the  lottery — but  most 
are  blanks  —  I  was  at  Pike's  Peak  —  I  liked  Denver 
City  very  much  —  But  the  most  interesting  part  of  my 
travel  has  been  the  Plains ,  (the  great  American  desert  the 
old  geographies  call  it,  but  it  is  no  desert)  largely  through 
Colorado  and  Western  Kansas,  all  flat,  hundreds  and 
even  thousands  of  miles  —  some  real  good,  nearly  all 
pretty  fair  soil,  all  for  stock  raising,  thousands  of  herds 
of  cattle,  some  very  large  —  the  herdsmen,  (the  principal 
common  employment)  a  wild  hardy  race,  always  on  horse 

171 


CALAMUS 

back,  they  call'em  cow-boys  altogether  —  I  used  to  like 
to  get  among  them  and  talk  with  them  —  I  stopt  some 
days  at  a  town  right  in  the  middle  of  those  Plains,  in 
Kansas,  on  the  Santa  Fe  road  —  found  a  soldier  there 
who  had  known  me  in  the  war  15  years  ago — was 
married  and  running  the  hotel  there  —  I  had  hard  work 
to  get  away  from  him  —  he  wanted  me  to  stay  all  winter 
—  The  picture  at  the  beginning  of  this  letter  is  the  St. 
Louis  bridge  over  the  Mississippi  river  —  I  often  go 
down  to  the  river,  or  across  this  bridge  —  it  is  one  of  my 
favorite  sights  —  but  the  air  of  this  City  don't  agree  with 
me  —  I  have  not  had  a  well  day,  (even  for  me)  since 
I  have  been  here  —  Well,  Pete,  dear  boy,  I  guess  I  have 
written  enough  —  How  are  you  getting  along  ?  I  often 
think  of  you  and  no  doubt  you  often  do  of  me  —  God 
bless  you,  my  darling  friend,  and  however  it  goes,  you 
must  keep  up  a  good  heart  —  for  I  do  —  So  long  —  from 
your  old  WALT. 

IX 

London,  Ontario,  Canada,  (Saturday)  July  24,  1880, 
p.  M.  Am  all  right  again  for  me  —  was  sick  about  three 
weeks  —  at  times  pretty  bad  —  was  well  taken  care  of 
here  —  the  best  of  friends  both  Dr.  and  Mrs.  B.  (as 
human  as  I  ever  met  both)  — Monday  morning  next  I 
start  on  a  long  Lake  and  St.  Lawrence  river  trip,  900 
miles,  (mostly  by  steamer,  comfortable  I  reckon)  —  gone 
nearly  three  weeks,  then  back  here  —  May  write  you  from 
Quebec.  Your  papers  come.  W.  W. 

172 


WHEN  you  read  these  I  that  was  visible  am  become  invisible, 
Now  it  is  you,  compact,  visible,  realizing  my  poems,  seeking  me, 
Fancying  how  happy  you  were  if  I  could  be  with  you  and  become 

your  comrade ; 
Be  it  as  if  I  were  with  you.     (Be  not  too  certain  but  I  am  now 

with  you.) 

Leaves  of  Grass  (Ed'n  1892),  p.  n*. 


173 


©.  fwnlcg.  Hare  jBooks. 
California. 


Wayland  Hyatt  Smith  was  a  personal 
friend  of  Whitman's;  at  one  time 
his  attorney.  Several  of  the  Whitman 
firsts  in  his  library  were  inscribed 
to  him. 


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